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Remy had been stuck inside for twelve hours, and it already felt like a month. Technically, it was supposed to be a month —real grounding, the kind Jean-Luc only pulled out when someone had pushed every possible line.
And Remy had.
The night before, he and his cousin Lapin had slipped out after midnight, swearing they’d only wander the Quarter for a bit, listen to the street musicians, maybe sneak beignets from a vendor who never counted right. But “a bit” turned into three in the morning. And when they came stumbling through the front door, loud as loose shutters in a storm, Jean-Luc had been waiting at the kitchen table in the dim light.
That look alone had done the grounding.
The next day, Remy sat on his bed, staring at his phone. He’d been avoiding this call all day. He didn’t want to hear the disappointment in your voice. You’d been excited about this concert since the flyers went up around town. A local indie band, small stage, summer air —your kind of night.
He picked up the phone, thumb hovering over your name. Time was running out. You were probably getting dressed by now.
He hit call.
You answered on the first ring, breathless and bright. “Hey! I’m getting ready now. I found the shirt I was telling you about —finally!”
He shut his eyes. “Chère…”
Your voice softened. “What’s wrong?”
“I ain’t comin’ tonight.” The words came out low. “Papa grounded me. For real grounded. No leavin’ this house for a whole month.”
Silence. Then an irritated sigh.
“Remy. Seriously? What did you do this time?”
“We, uh….got home late.”
“How late?”
He hesitated. “Three.”
“Remy!”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know, I know. I ain’t smart. Lapin said th—”
“You always listen to that idiot cousin of yours.”
“That’s fair.”
Your next sigh wasn’t sharp anymore. Just tired. Disappointed. “It’s okay. There’ll be other concerts.”
But he could hear what you didn’t say. You wanted this one.
“I promise I’m gonna make it up to you…” He said. “Whatever you want.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely hold you to that.” Your voice warmed again. “Just….try not to get into any more trouble, okay?”
He huffed a small laugh. “I’ll do my best.”
You hung up. The quiet settled heavy.
He stayed in his room for almost an hour, pacing slow circles across the worn floorboards. Every now and then he checked the time. Every now and then he replayed the sound of disappointment in your voice.
He wanted tonight. Not just the concert. He’d been building up to something. To maybe telling you the thing that kept sitting warm and tight in his chest. That he liked being around you more than anyone else. That he thought about your laugh way too often.
Finally, the idea landed. Simple. Reckless. Obvious.
Lock the bedroom door. Climb out the window. Be back before Jean-Luc came home from his brother’s.
He checked his watch. Plenty of time.
Remy grabbed his hoodie off the floor, locked the door, and slipped out the window with practiced ease. The warm air hit him like freedom. His heart thumped with a thrill he always chased.
Two blocks down, he spotted a bike leaning against a fence. Blue frame, loose chain —but usable.
“Merci, mon ami….” He murmured, hopping on.
The ride across town took fifteen minutes, not twenty. He pedaled fast, hair blowing, breeze cool against his face. When he reached your street, he skidded on the corner from braking too hard.
He knocked on your door, cheeks flushed, grin wide and stupid.
When you saw him, you blinked once. Twice. Then laughed.
“Remy. You’re grounded.”
“I snuck out….” He said, still smiling.
You swatted his arm. “You’re trouble.”
“An’ you’re happy to see me.”
Your eyes softened. “I am.”
☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀
The two of you rode back together on the same bike, you sitting behind him, arms around his waist. Every time you leaned in to tell him to slow down, he felt his pulse pick up. Your laughter carried in the warm air as he swerved around potholes and glided through quiet streets.
By the time you reached the field, the music was already loud. Lights blinked across the stage, the sky fading from pink to deep blue. People danced barefoot on trampled grass, sweat and summer air mixing with the smell of lemonade from the vendor tent.
You hopped off the bike and grabbed his hand without a thought. “Come on!”
He didn’t even pretend to resist.
You pulled him straight into the crowd. The band hit a chorus, and you yelled the lyrics with zero shame. Remy joined in, though he mostly watched you—your hair moving with the rhythm, the way your smile kept breaking wider.
At one point you nudged him, teasing him about being off-key. He rolled his eyes, grabbed a cold water bottle from a cooler near the edge of the crowd, and held it to his forehead dramatically.
“This what heatstroke feels like?”
You laughed and reached for the bottle to steal a sip. When your fingers brushed his, he froze in that dumb, overwhelmed way only you could cause.
And the bottle flickered.
Just a shimmer of light under the plastic. A spark of pink energy curled around his fingers before he yanked his hand back.
You stared at the bottle. “Remy—”
“Nothin’! It ain’t nothin’.”
Around you, a few kids oohed, and someone joked about glow sticks. Remy shoved the bottle into a trash bin before it charged again.
You nudged him. “You okay?”
“Yeah….” He said. “Just…you caught me off guard.”
He meant it more than you realized.
Between songs, he slid an arm around your waist. You leaned into him, warm against his side. He spun you once —careful, playful— and you laughed into his shoulder. For one long moment, the noise of the concert faded. The lights softened. It felt like the world paused on purpose.
He wanted to tell you right then.
Wanted to say everything.
But the words stuck, and the music kicked back up before he could try again.
☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀☉☀
Later, when the show ended and the crowd thinned, you held his hand as you both walked toward the edge of the park. The air cooled, carrying the hum of cicadas and leftover cheers.
He was telling you the story of how Henri tried to flirt with a girl who turned out to be a cop’s daughter when headlights flashed across the street.
Remy stiffened.
A familiar car slowed beside the two of you.
“Oh no…” He muttered.
The window rolled down.
Jean-Luc leaned toward the open frame, jaw set, voice calm in that way that meant he wasn’t calm at all. “Remy Étienne LeBeau…” Jean-Luc said, voice smooth and slow. “Get in the car.”
Remy gave you a helpless look. “I’m dead.”
You squeezed his hand once before letting go. “I’m sorry….”
“Don’t be sorry. I ain’t.”
The two of them climbed into the back seat. Jean-Luc nodded politely to you, then drove you the five blocks to your house. The whole ride, he muttered under his breath in Cajun French, something about ‘troublemakers…’ and ‘.....god help me when this boy hits eighteen.’
When the car rolled to a stop in front of your house, neither of you reached for the door right away.
You turned toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“You’re the best…” You whispered.
Before he could answer, you leaned across the seat. He barely had time to process what was happening before your lips brushed softly against his cheek—warm, gentle, lingering for just a heartbeat.
When you pulled away, he sat perfectly still.
His eyes widened. Every thought he'd been trying to organize vanished in an instant. Heat rushed straight to his face, and he could still feel the ghost of your kiss where your lips had touched him.
"You..." he started, completely losing whatever sentence he'd been about to say.
You only smiled, trying and failing not to laugh at the stunned look on his face.
"Good luck surviving your dad." You slipped out of the car and ran up your steps, turned at the door, and waved again before disappearing inside.
Jean-Luc didn’t even start driving until Remy’s smile calmed down a little. "You know you in trouble, garçon."
"Uh-huh."
"I mean it. A whole month. You ain't seein' the outside of this house unless it's church or an emergency."
"Oui, Papa."
Jean-Luc glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "You still smilin'."
"I know."
His dad sighed the sigh of someone who loved his kid too much to stay mad long.
Remy replayed the night in his head, the concert, your laugh, the warmth of your hand in his, every moment brighter than the next.
Everything felt light.
As they turned a corner, he let the thought settle deep in his chest.
Worth it. Every single second.