Chapter Text
The next day.
The house is quiet—too quiet. Quieter than it’s been in a long time. And that silence weighs on her. It presses down.
Brooke is in the kitchen. She’s tidying up, putting away small things left out the day before.
The mess of an ordinary day.
A day that stopped being ordinary the moment Peyton started reading that damn letter.
Brooke cleans, organizes, puts things away. As if putting objects in their place could also fix the chaos inside her.
Spoiler: it doesn’t work.
She’s already tried everything.
Working.
Watching TV.
Talking to Hales about every single possible thing—except Peyton.
She tried drinking.
She cried until she had no tears left. Until her throat felt raw like sandpaper.
She screamed into a pillow until her voice disappeared.
And still, nothing worked.
Because the pain hasn’t faded.
It hasn’t even dulled.
It’s still there. Hiding in plain sight. Between her ribs.
“Hey…” A voice breaks the silence. Soft. Shaky. Way too familiar.
Brooke’s body stiffens instantly. Every muscle, every nerve, tenses. The bowl stays frozen in her hands a second too long.
She doesn’t need to turn around to know.
She knows.
Peyton is there. Just a few feet away. In the living room. Standing still. Watching her.
Brooke swallows hard, throat dry as sand. Then she starts moving again.
Pretending.
Pretending she didn’t hear her.
Pretending she doesn’t know she’s there. That she doesn’t feel those eyes on her like thorns on her skin.
She puts the bowl away and closes the cabinet door.
Her hands are trembling. Her heart pounding so hard she can hear it in her ears. Her eyes blur.
But she doesn’t turn around.
She doesn’t say anything.
She ignores her.
Ignores everything.
Especially what she’s feeling right now.
“Was it true?” Peyton speaks. Again. But this time, her voice is more uncertain. Less sure of itself.
The question hits out of nowhere. Like a punch to the gut. Catching Brooke off guard. Terrifying her.
She stops pretending.
The anger bursts out in an instant. Or maybe it’s just fear, disguised.
She slams the cabinet door shut. “I don’t want to talk about it, Peyton!” The words come out sharp, angry—but her eyes are glassy with emotion. She spins around, ready to shout at her. “Is it really that hard to underst—” But she stops.
The words die on her lips the moment her eyes meet Peyton’s.
And she sees her.
Really sees her.
She looks shaken.
No—she is shaken.
Peyton’s face is pale.
Her cheeks hollow.
Her eyes red, tired.
Her shoulders slumped, posture hesitant—like she’s that scared girl again, the one who used to hide behind sketches and songs.
There’s no trace of her usual boldness.
No confidence.
Only pain. Confusion. Fear.
And Brooke knows. She knows.
Knows it’s her fault.
The letter’s fault.
Her words’ fault.
What she felt. What she still feels?
What she hid. What she’s still hiding?
And now it’s all out there. Between them.
Impossible to ignore.
Peyton slowly lets the sheet of paper fall onto the kitchen counter.
Her fingers are visibly shaking.
And Brooke can’t help but think—if her hands are shaking like that, then her heart must be trembling even more.
Hers is.
God, it is.
She stands still. Doesn’t even lift her eyes.
As if looking at Peyton might be the thing that finally breaks her.
So she keeps her gaze fixed on the page. That damn page.
Slightly crumpled, the ink smudged in places—clear traces of tears.
Brooke’s heart tightens.
She pictures Peyton curled up somewhere, holding that letter, reading it over and over in silence.
Crying. Alone. Without an explanation. With more questions than answers.
And all because of her.
Because she ran. Because she ignored every call. Every message. Every attempt to reach out.
“Brooke… Was it true?” Peyton’s voice is a whisper—but it cuts through the air like a blade.
Brooke feels panic closing around her throat. She wants to lie. She wants to deny everything.
And she could.
She could.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she nods. Barely. Just enough.
“All of it?”
Brooke closes her eyes. Takes a shaky breath. “All of it.”
Silence falls between them again.
Heavier than before. Harder to bear.
“And now?” Peyton’s voice is soft. Uncertain. “Is it still true now?”
Brooke’s heart races.
Her blood turns to ice.
No. Not this.
Admitting the truth about what she felt twenty years ago is one thing.
Admitting the truth about what she feels now...
That’s too much.
Too soon. Too late. Too everything.
“You should go.” Her voice is hard. Colder than she meant it to be, as she backs away from the kitchen. Or tries to.
But Peyton is faster. She moves, blocking her path. “Let me pass.” Brooke’s voice is tight, fists clenched at her sides.
Peyton doesn’t move. “Is it true?” Her voice trembles.
Brooke tries to push past her, but Peyton doesn’t budge. “I said let me through!” Brooke insists more forcefully, trying to slip by, but Peyton stands like a wall.
She places a hand on Brooke’s stomach, stopping her.
It’s a small gesture, but it hits like an explosion.
Brooke holds her breath.
That touch. That hand on her.
It sends a shock down her spine.
Something she shouldn’t feel.
Not anymore.
Not now.
“Is it still true?” Peyton’s voice is gentle. But firm. Like her hand. Steady. Certain.
Impossible to bear.
Impossible to ignore.
Her hand presses against Brooke, pushing her back.
Brooke steps back.
Her heart pounds out of control.
She can’t stop her.
She’s not even sure she wants to.
“Please, P…” Her voice breaks. Tears threaten to spill. “Let me go. I can’t… I—” The words get stuck. Die in her throat, when her back hits the wall.
Her body trapped between the cold surface—
And Peyton.
A breath away.
Too close.
Too far.
And Brooke has no way out.
Not from the room.
Not from herself.
Not from Peyton.
Not from what she feels.
Peyton takes a deep breath.
Her hands are still trembling slightly as she slowly unrolls the page from her diary.
Then she begins to read.
“Dear diary,
Today my best friend kissed me.”
Brooke’s breath catches in her throat.
Her heart jumps in her chest.
She’s not sure she’s ready to hear what Peyton felt that day.
“And I liked it. A lot. Maybe too much.”
Brooke feels her knees weaken slightly. She leans a bit more against the wall behind her.
Those words hit like a jolt.
She liked it.
It’s all she can think about.
That kiss. She liked it.
“A kiss so quick and innocent… and yet it made me feel more than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
More than I ever felt kissing Luke.”
Brooke’s heart pounds harder, faster.
Her head spins.
Her eyes lift instinctively, searching for Peyton’s.
They meet—just for a second.
Because Peyton immediately looks away.
And Brooke would give anything to be looked at by her in that moment.
To understand what’s really in her eyes now.
Peyton swallows, then continues reading.
“Is it because I like girls?”
“No.”
“Is it because I like a girl?”
“No.”
Then, her voice begins to tremble.
“Is it because I’m secretly, deeply, and totally in love with my best friend?”
Her voice cracks.
Her hands tremble.
Peyton’s whole body shakes against Brooke’s, and she can feel it. Every single shiver.
Instinctively, Brooke’s hands move.
They slide along Peyton’s arms, down until they find her hand—a small attempt to comfort her.
And yet Peyton’s body relaxes at the touch.
Almost instinctively, she intertwines her fingers with Brooke’s.
“Yes.
No.
I don’t know.”
She continues, shrugging.
Her eyes lift to the ceiling, as if trying to keep the tears from falling.
“Whatever the answer is… it doesn’t matter.”
Lie.
God, it does matter.
It’s the only thing that matters to Brooke right now.
To know.
To know what Peyton felt back then.
What she feels now.
“Because I can’t talk to her about it. I can’t talk to anyone. Not even myself.
Because she’s my best friend. Because I betrayed her by kissing her boyfriend. The first person she ever really felt something for… The first she ever talked about with stars in her eyes. Maybe—”
Peyton stops.
The words break on her lips.
The memories crash over her. Flood her mind. Cloud her gaze.
And Brooke feels that same shadow fall over her too.
“It’s okay.” Brooke’s voice is a whisper—so soft, she’s not even sure she said it out loud. Her fingers move gently, sliding behind Peyton’s neck. Their foreheads touch, just barely. “You know it’s okay… That we made it through. Together. So don’t stop. Keep going. Please.”
And in that moment, Brooke knows.
She doesn’t care about Luke.
Not anymore.
Hasn’t for years—and now, less than ever.
Because now, finally, she’s about to get the answers to all the questions she never dared ask.
Peyton takes another breath.
I don’t care about Luke. I care about you.
Those words burn in Brooke’s throat, press at her lips.
But they stay inside.
She waits.
Without pushing.
Even though the waiting is eating her alive.
“Maybe that’s why I did it…
Betrayed her. Crossed that line.
Destroyed our friendship.
Kissed Luke.”
Her voice drops even lower—barely a whisper.
As if she’s confessing a secret she’s carried for too long.
Because she is.
Brooke can feel it.
Her heart is pounding so loud she’s afraid Peyton might hear it.
“Because I didn’t want him to have something I couldn’t.
To be something I couldn’t be.
To want someone I…
couldn’t even let myself want.”
Peyton inhales deeply.
And then… something shifts.
Brooke sees it.
The weight of that secret slowly lifts, setting her free.
Peyton looks up at her—and finally, their eyes meet.
Finally, Brooke can breathe.
“The beautiful. Smart. Sexy. Perfect. Brooke Davis.
My best friend.
And probably… the love of my life.”
Her voice trembles—but it’s clear.
“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” Brooke asks, her voice barely a whisper.
Peyton’s gaze shifts uncomfortably downward.
She stalls, rolling the diary page back up and slipping it into the pocket of her jeans.
“I had already ruined our friendship once. I didn’t want to do it again... and then I did it again anyway.” She gives a bitter smile as a single tear slides down her cheek. She wipes it away quickly with the back of her hand, which then drops limply to her side with a soft thud.
“Peyton…” Brooke says gently, almost like a scolding. She tilts her head slightly, trying to meet her eyes.
It’s been years since the kiss between Peyton and Lucas. Years since Brooke stopped thinking about it. And yet, it surprises her that Peyton still blames herself.
Peyton looks up. Her eyes lock onto Brooke’s. “And you? Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she interrupts, before Brooke can say another word.
She looks at her with eyes red and glassy, and something breaks inside Brooke.
“I was afraid of being wrong.” Her voice trembles; tears well in her eyes. “Afraid you’d see me as wrong. Afraid of losing you. Again. Forever. For who I was. For what I felt for you.”
For what I am. For what I still feel.
She thinks it. But she can’t say it.
Peyton looks at her. For a long time.
Maybe she senses what Brooke can’t bring herself to say. Or maybe not. Brooke doesn’t know. And the not-knowing terrifies her.
Then Peyton’s lips curve into a soft smile. A smile that makes Brooke’s heart beat a little faster.
Gently, Peyton lifts a hand and brushes it against Brooke’s face. Her fingers tremble just slightly as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear in a slow, tender gesture. “You’re not wrong, Brooke. And you haven’t lost me.”
Brooke holds her breath.
Does it mean what she hopes?
That she accepts her—even now?
That she still wants her?
“Remember? You’re stuck with me.” Peyton’s voice is soft, but the smile on her lips is sure.
Brooke nods slowly, closing her eyes for a moment. Tears slide silently down her cheeks.
Peyton wipes them away one by one, her fingers grazing Brooke’s skin like it’s something delicate.
“And now?” Brooke whispers. “What happens now?”
She doesn’t know where she finds the courage to ask.
Maybe in Peyton’s eyes.
Maybe in her touch.
Maybe in the need to live this differently—not just as her best friend anymore.
Maybe in the aching desire to kiss her again. For real, this time.
“Now…” Peyton begins, a sudden uncertainty in her voice, almost shy. “Now… you could really kiss me.” Her cheeks flush red with the admission.
And Brooke doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful in her life. “Are you sure?” she asks gently, voice trembling, heart pounding.
Afraid she’ll say no.
Or that she’ll say yes.
And because of that overwhelming desire that burns through her—desire with only one name: Peyton.
“Right now, I just want to know if that kiss…” Peyton smiles, a little nervous, a little excited, her gaze dropping briefly to Brooke’s lips. “Still feels the way I remember it.”
Brooke doesn’t wait a second longer.
Her fingers curl around the fabric of Peyton’s shirt, pulling her close.
Their lips meet in a kiss that’s soft.
And unexpectedly salty.
But in a moment, it deepens. Becomes more urgent.
More them.
When they finally pull apart, their foreheads touch, and both are smiling.
“Was it how you remembered?” Brooke asks quietly, still breathless.
Peyton slowly shakes her head. “No…” she murmurs, her lips just a breath from Brooke’s. “It’s so much better. And I definitely want more.”
Brooke laughs. Light. Joyful. Finally happy.
Then Peyton’s lips find hers again, this time with more urgency—
And that laughter melts into a soft moan.