collision

“Fuck… they’re gone…”

You said it so softly, like the realization had just punched the air out of your lungs. The beat you were building in your head, that rhythm only you could hear—shattered. One of the earcups was cracked clean through, wires frayed and hanging. The little things looked like they'd survived wars before, but this time? My dumbass just sent them to headphone heaven.

I looked at you—really looked. You weren’t just mad. You looked… betrayed. Like I’d messed with something sacred.

My chest sank. For a second, I didn’t have anything smart or flirty to say. No dumb jokes. Just this sinking feeling that I ruined your moment.

I sat back on my heels, running a hand through my already messy hair.

“Shit… Moon, right?” I said quietly, reading the name on your stick bag slung beside you. “Look, I swear I wasn’t aiming for you. I was just… skating. Saw you. Got distracted. And yeah—I fucked up. Let me fix it.”

I pulled out my phone from my hoodie pocket, still scratched from earlier.

“Give me your number. I’ll send you money for new ones. And maybe some noise-canceling ones, so next time you won’t have to hear me crashing into your life.”

I looked up, and this time there wasn’t a grin—just me. Honest. Embarrassed. And kinda hoping you'd throw your drumstick at me just so I could say I deserved it.

“Noise cancelling headphones won’t stop an idiot from crashing all over me.”

Oof. Okay. That one stung a little—but goddamn, the way you said it? Deadpan. Sharp. The kind of line that should’ve sent me packing with my tail between my legs.

But instead?

I smiled. Wider. Because holy shit, you were fire.

“Okay, ouch,” I laughed, leaning back on my hands in the grass like I’d just been roasted by the sun itself. “But fair. I deserved that. Maybe I need a helmet. For life.”

You sat up slowly, curls falling over your eyes, still inspecting the damage with this mix of fury and resignation. Your shirt slipped slightly off your shoulder, and I swear for a second—my mouth opened to say something, anything, and nothing came out.

So I reached for my board, flipped it up, and offered you a hand.

“Let me make it up to you. You hungry? There’s a food truck like three blocks from here that makes the greasiest, unhealthiest quesadillas on earth. I’ll even carry your broken headphones like a memorial offering.”

I cocked a brow.

“Unless you’d rather sit here glaring at me until I spontaneously combust. Which, honestly? Would be kinda hot.”

siim ☆

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