Warning: This story includes depictions of depression and suicidal thoughts, as well as mention of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and other serious topics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sky High or any of its characters.


"You look gorgeous," Madeline smiled, looking at Layla in the full-length mirror. She could hardly believe her own eyes; the strapless, floor-length obsidian gown hung regally on her slender form. She didn't notice in her usual sweaters and jeans, but in this dress, she could clearly see that she'd gotten much thinner. Her red hair was neatly done up in a French twist, courtesy of Madeline's stylist, and her hazel eyes suddenly seemed smoky and alluring thanks to the makeup Madeline had put on her. Layla usually didn't like to be fussed over, but Madeline was right. She did look gorgeous.

Will doesn't know what he's missing out on.

And there is was again, the need to show him what he'd lost. Why couldn't she just let him go?

"What are you thinking about?" Madeline interrupted her silent inner turmoil. It took her a second to realize that a question had been asked. She smiled sweetly, eager to put her mind off Will.

"How thankful I am for all of this, and for you," she replied, turning to face her kind-hearted friend. Madeline gestured as if to say 'it's nothing', though Layla knew that was untrue.

Madeline looked stunning in her pearlescent gown, her dark hair waterfalling down her shoulder. The light blue color complemented her dark olive skin beautifully. She almost looked like an angel.

"Let's get downstairs, shall we?" Madeline pulled Layla along, the heels making it more difficult to travel down the stairs. How did people like Madeline look graceful in heels all the time? Layla could only imagine how awkward and uncoordinated she looked to others.

Below, the gathering had already begun. Hundreds of people littered the large mansion, a live pianist playing gentle tunes from the ballroom. The courtyard held even more people, all in bespoke suits or expensive gowns. Layla looked back at Madeline, who was already waving to people and walking them over to a small group.

"I thought you said a small party, Madi," Layla grumbled.

"This is small, Lay," Madeline rolled her eyes. They reached their destination and soon found themselves surrounded by socialites from every circle. Everyone greeted Madeline kindly, throwing curious glances in Layla's direction. After the chatter died down, a voice finally asked the question on everyone's mind.

"Mayor Price, won't you introduce your friend to us?"

And here I was hoping no one would notice me.

"This," Madeline started as she forcibly brought Layla forward, "is Layla Williams." The circle still seemed unappeased. "She's on the short list to be my new political advisor." That was what they needed to hear. Suddenly, everyone was marveling over her dress, her hair, her shoes, everything. Luckily, Madeline sensed her unease. "It was lovely catching up with all of you, but we do have more guests to greet. Thank you for coming!" Without waiting for a response, Madeline and Layla were briskly walking away, giggling like middle schoolers.

"Imagine if you'd told them I'm your gardener," Layla snorted. Madeline stifled a laugh as they made their way over to the refreshment table. She plucked two large glasses of red wine from the table, handing one to Layla. They both took a long sip before daring to look at each other. And as soon as they made eye contact, they began to laugh again.

This was nice. Being out of her house with a friend was nice. Drinking wine in a place other than her living room was nice. And then, the worst happened.

"Hey, I'm going to go say hi to an old friend, but you go around, mingle!" Madeline said, already walking away and ignoring Layla's terrified expression. "You'll do great, Lay!" Layla's hand shook for a moment. She downed the glass in her hand, placing it back on the table and picking up a new one. There was only one place she felt comfortable.

She walked into the courtyard, avoiding people as much as possible. Since it was a bit chilly out, most of the crowd had migrated back into the manor, with a few people sticking around the foyer. Layla migrated further into the courtyard, finding a secluded corner to hide in. She sat down on the nearby bench, taking a sip of the wine in her hand. Something was off. Looking at the glass, she realized she'd grabbed the champagne instead of the red.

Nothing to celebrate, she thought, sighing at the glass. There was no way she was going inside to get a new glass, so she'd just have to drink it.

The last of the guests headed inside, and it sounded like a toast was being made. Layla was finally at peace. She lifted a hand, guiding the freshly planted peonies into bloom. They were planted to flower as a mosaic of different colors, and even in the dim garden lighting, they looked lovely. Within a few moments, the smell of fresh flowers rose into the air, refreshing and clean. Layla sipped her champagne, leaning back and balancing on her palm. She didn't belong in a mansion full of wealthy upper-class decision makers. This was where she belonged, with her flowers.

Maybe under flowers.

The thought was intrusive and depressing, but somehow it didn't surprise her. She was so numb to her own loneliness and only now, when it was much too late, was she beginning to see that it was destructive and sad. Maybe it was time to give up. Before she could stop it, hot tears started to escape her eyes, disappearing in the dark satin of her dress. She set the glass down, holding herself as she cried for the first time in what felt like years.

"You look cold," a voice remarked from behind the bench. Somehow, it sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

She didn't have the energy to respond or move, tears still leaking down her face. Funny enough, she felt the most upset about ruining Madeline's makeup.

"You okay?" the same voice was closer now, almost right behind her. She hiccupped a sob, only now realizing how cold she was.

Before she could make up an excuse and tell the intruder that she was fine, she found a warm suit jacket placed around her shoulders. The heat from the jacket made her feel a bit safer, though she didn't quite know why. The person sat down next to her, keeping a small distance between them. She felt too embarrassed at the situation to look up. Maybe they'd just go away.

After a few minutes of them quietly waiting as she softly sobbed, she heard them shift. Maybe they were finally going to ask for their jacket back and leave her alone.

"Layla?"

The voice sounded painfully familiar, and she started to realize just who was sitting next to her. She looked up after a moment to confirm her suspicion.

"Warren."

Neither one knew what to say. They simply looked at each other for a moment. He was handsome as ever, his brown eyes inquisitively probing her own for answers. His hair was still long, she noted appreciatively, but tied up in a neat bun. He'd grown a little bit of facial hair, but not enough to definitively call a beard. He still had such kind eyes… Usually, they were obscured by his hardened façade but in this moment, they were both vulnerable, and his eyes were unguarded and deep. He radiated concern, but didn't reach to touch her, and didn't try to make any more conversation.

Layla finally looked away, uncomfortable with his gaze.

"It would have been embarrassing if you were a stranger," she whispered, "but now that it's you, it's mortifying." She heard him sigh, glancing at him to check. He was still looking at her.

"What's so mortifying?" he asked, his voice only marginally louder than hers. "We're friends."

"Friends?" She knew she could have initiated contact all these years, but right now, she just needed to be upset. "You haven't spoken to me in nearly five years and we're friends?"

"Layla…"

"No, Warren, you can't walk up to me after all this time and claim to be my friend. Where were you when Will was being an ass? Or when my mom left?" she began to raise her voice, which was very out-of-character. She knew these things had nothing to do with Warren, they'd just been inside so long that it was all slowly unraveling. "Where were you when I needed someone, when I couldn't be everyone's person to rely on?" She'd begun crying again. The peonies were softly wilting. "Where was everyone when I needed them?" The flowers were back to buds, her face in her hands, body shaking with anger, sadness, whatever this feeling was.

His hand gently rubbed her shoulder, not knowing how else to offer help. It was obvious that she'd been struggling, and he felt guilty for not keeping in touch. Truthfully, he'd have done anything to help her, and he still would.

"Hey," he said, distracting her from her current pain, "do you want to skip out on all of this?" She met his eyes once more, looking defeated. "We can get some Chinese food. The Paper Lantern is just a few minutes away, my car is parked close by." She blinked, thinking. She nodded, and he released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Come on," he smiled, extending his hand. She stared at it, unsure of whether to take him up on his offer. Then she looked at his face again. His eyes. She needed to escape herself right now and he was offering a great alternative.

Don't be an idiot, she thought, just go. You can forget about him tomorrow.

She gingerly grasped his hand, still shaking a little. He helped her stand up, walking her to the valet in the front. He could feel her shiver under his jacket, and without a thought, he began to heat his hands, rubbing them up and down her sides. She leaned into him a little, causing his breath to catch. After all this time, Warren still had a soft spot when it came to Layla.

When they got close enough, he gestured for the valet to get his car. Warren looked down at her; even with makeup running down her face, she was stunning. Within a minute, the car was running and ready to go.

"Alright, hippie, let's get out of here."


It was late, but Warren had cashed in a favor with the owner to stay open another hour. They'd been silently sitting in a corner booth, meals set in front of them, neither touching their food. Warren looked up at her every so often, Layla only looking down at her plate. Finally, he'd had enough.

"We can talk, or we can continue to sit here in silence," he crossed his arms on the table. "Choice is yours, hippie."

"Don't call me hippie," she muttered, glaring at him momentarily before returning her gaze to her plate.

"Oh, so you're still mad at me, huh?"

"I'm not mad at you." She sunk into the booth, crossing her arms too.

"Really? Because you seem pretty mad."

"I'm not mad. Stop saying that."

"Sure, because that's not mad."

"Warren!" Layla didn't realize how loud her voice was until she saw that every employee had stopped and stared at them. She sheepishly looked down at her plate once more.

"Layla, please talk to me," he begged, leaning forward to get a little closer to her. "I just want to help. Let me help."

Sure, let him in, just like you let Will in.

She sighed, looking up at him. He didn't deserve to be grouped in with jerks like Will, and he obviously wasn't going to give up anytime soon.

"You've missed a lot, Warren."

He sighed, uncrossing his arms and leaning back.

"I know," he said, "and I want to make up for it. Let me be here for you now."

"Fine," she accepted. Then, she looked around. "But… not here."

He shrugged, signaling an employee for the check. Layla began to protest, but one look from him and she was quiet as a church mouse. The waiter brought over the bill and two boxes, and she packed it all up while he signed. Quiet as they came in, they were gone.

The ride to Layla's house was silent, save for the occasional glowering from one or the other. Warren had forgotten how large Layla's house was; they'd studied there quite a few times in high school, and each time he marveled at the place. Compared to his childhood home, it was a paradise.

"Are you coming?" she asked, already a few feet ahead of him. He blinked, releasing the thoughts.

"Sorry," he said, joining her quickly, "I spaced." They walked to the front door quietly, distantly. Layla handed Warren his jacket back, reaching her palm out near a hanging flower pot. The flowers slowly grew, pulling a key out of the soil and placing it in her palm. She unlocked the door, returning the key to the pot. "That's not safe, you know." She scoffed, gesturing to where they were; rich suburban Maxville. She could have left her key taped to the door and nothing bad would have happened.

He didn't know why, but this made him feel much more at ease.

She placed the food in the kitchen, opening the fridge. He noted that there was barely any food, just several bottles of wine and a few condiments. She removed a bottle of red, plucking a glass from the open cabinet and pouring herself a generous amount.

"Easy there," he commented, moving a little closer. She looked up at him, stopping momentarily. Then, making full eye contact, she filled the glass more, leaving it about a third empty. She mechanically closed the bottle, putting it back in the fridge and looking at him again, gesturing to the bottles. He shook his head.

She quickly made her way over to the couch, choosing her normal spot in the corner. He took the other one, both still examining each other as if this wasn't real. Finally, after half her glass was emptied, Warren spoke.

"I remember coming here when we were kids," he said, watching her face fall a little. "Your mom once told me I was like an ostrich, large and angry." Layla laughed, but quickly stifled it, still unable to look at him. "She was always nice to me, despite my history." Ms. Williams had never judged him for his father's actions; she'd always told him that who he chose to become was the only thing of importance. "Where is she nowadays?"

She looked resigned, sipping slowly.

"There's a long answer and a short answer," she sighed. "Which do you want?"

"Both." She gently nudged her shoes away, pulling her feet up in front of her. She stared at them, pretending to be fixated with the red marks the heels had left on her. He didn't push, just patiently waited for her to be ready. He was being too considerate.

"Short answer," she began, "is that she's travelling the world." He looked like he wanted to remark, but he kept quiet, continuing to wait for her. "Long answer…" she choked a little bit, sighing to release the tension. She hadn't talked to anyone about this, not even Madeline. She didn't want the looks she was sure to get when people knew. "Mom was diagnosed with cancer."

She glanced up to gauge his reaction, but he was still stony, unwilling to be anything but supportive. Even if it annoyed her in the moment, somewhere inside she appreciated it.

"Ewing's sarcoma, a bone cancer. She found out around the time I was graduating. It was in a late stage, and that type of cancer has a high mortality rate. You know mom," Layla dryly laughed, "she refused to go out full of chemicals and radiation. So, she decided to travel the world and aid animals all over the globe in finding peace and freedom." She set her glass down on the coffee table, hugging her knees closer to her chest. "She's off doing great work all over the globe while she's dying, and I'm alone here, putting my talents to waste. She must be so ashamed of me. Maybe that's why she's gone." Warren wanted so badly to shake her out of this, but she needed the cathartic release of walking through the problem herself. "She didn't even ask me before she left," she whispered, the hurt in her voice nearly heartbreaking. Warren was still guarding his emotions, moving a little closer to her and trying to figure out how to best offer support. She patiently waited for the usual responses to a sad story. 'I'm sorry.' 'That's terrible.' 'It'll be okay.'

"None of that was your fault," he said. She looked up, surprised to see his eyes softening on her. "You're not to blame for this happening, for her not catching it sooner, for her decided to leave here," he continued, moving closer with each assertion. Finally, he was right in front of her, almost too close for comfort. "You're not putting anything to waste. You're doing the best you can, and right now, that should be enough."

He extended a hand, offering little physical relief, but she needed more. Without thinking it through, her arms were around him in a painfully tight hug, sinking into his body. His hands hovered for a moment, surprised at the unexpected affection, but soon after he was holding her like he wished he would have sooner. She needed someone to show her they cared, and he was happy to oblige; it broke his heart to watch her fall apart like this.

They stayed like that for a good long while, taking in every detail of the other. Though the room was dead silent, it was comfortable. In that moment, Warren promised himself something. He knew she was going to break, and he vowed he'd be there to piece her back together.


That was a quick update! The idea for this chapter was fresh in my mind, and I figured it's easier to gauge a story as more of the plot unfolds, so I wanted to get it out as soon as I could! For the following chapters, expect updates every week or so! Like I said, I'm exploring Layla's character and her complexities, and right now, she's in a bad place. It's going to be a sad story, so brace yourself!