Have you ever been to a concert where the band is completely awful and they're screaming and your ears are ringing with numbness, but you can't look away and you remain nailed to the spot, staring up at them with your eyes as wide as tennis balls?

That's kind of what I'm feeling right now. The silence is raining blow upon blow on my ears and I think I've just about lost control of all my basic motor skills. I don't know how to begin to process this.

--

I screwed it up. Peyton's staring at me with a look I've never seen before. She doesn't look horrified, so I guess that's a good thing. But other than that, I think I may have just sent her straight into a coma. This is definitely a first for me.

But I've come too far to just sit here until we age and become a permanent fixture in this room. I clear my throat.

The sound jolts Peyton out of her stupor. I brace myself.

--

"Uh …"

My body feels like it's a million miles away. And Brooke's is too close for comfort.

I feel suffocated. My clothes are constricting me, crushing my lungs. Frantically, I take a gulp of air. This is ridiculous. I have never had an anxiety attack like this.

"Peyton, calm down." Brooke's voice reaches out to me, pulling me back from the edge. "I didn't mean to dump that on you like that. It just came out."

I hazard a glance in her direction. Her eyes are warm, undemanding. She scoots back a couple of inches to give me room. Why the hell did I react like that? She's my best friend, for god's sake, and I'm acting like a child.

"No, I'm sorry. I just … It took me by surprise, that's all. I, um, I guess I'm still processing this."

"Oh. Okay." Her voice is heavy. I know she's trying to hold back the disappointment, but she's never been that good at hiding her emotions.

Tentatively, I grasp her hand with both of mine. "Brooke, look at me. I'm just telling you that I need some time, okay? It's kind of a big deal." I crack a grin. "You always did know how to make a dramatic announcement."

She lets out a small laugh and my body sags with relief. I feel like I need a map or a compass, something telling me where to go from here. Is there even a logical way to figure this out? Some mathematical equation that will lead me to an irrefutable answer? I vaguely remember something about constants. Constants, right. Something that is fixed, unchanging. What's the constant in this situation?

A slow smile pulls at my lips as the answer dawns on me. What's the constant? Brooke. Brooke is the constant. No matter what happens, I'm not losing her.

--

Well, it turns out that Matt is a class-A asshole. He and his friends ditched the creepy little house, leaving Brooke and I to fumble through the darkness. Somehow, we make it to the beach. The night air blows the dust off my jacket and surges through our lungs, a welcome relief from the confines of that tiny room.

It feels odd, though, not having Brooke's arm hooked through mine. We haven't said a word for far too long. The gravity of Brooke's confession weighs heavy on my shoulders and the short-lived relief dissipates into the foreboding silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Brooke dragging her feet, her eyes trained on the sand and her entire demeanour glummer than I ever thought possible. Look at her, she's supposed to be the hottest cheerleader in Tree Hill, the most positive person I know, but just because I haven't responded, she's looking like she just got shot down by the latest stud in town.

It's kind of cute, really.

I halt in my tracks. "Why don't we just sit here?"

"Um, okay."

We sit down beside each other and watch the black waves roar and crash.

"Long day, huh?" she ventures, faking a smile.

"Thanks to you," I tease.

Brooke's expression instantly flashes with hurt and I feel my heart constrict in my chest. "I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean that."

Hugging her knees, Brooke trains her eyes on the invisible horizon. She looks vulnerable. Almost defeated.

"You're cold. Come here." I pull her to me and wrap my arm around her back, rubbing her goosebumped arm with my hand. There's only one jacket between the two of us, so I do my best to keep her warm.

We stay like that for several minutes and finally, her infamous Davis impatience strikes through.

"Peyton …"

"I know."

"I'm not sure that you do. This is really confusing for me."

"It's a bit confusing for me too," I say gently. "But you have to know that I'm not going to just ditch you, okay?"

"I know you won't," she whispers. A wistful smile lingers on her lips and she turns back toward the ocean.

The way she's sitting, she looks so little, like back when we were only ten. The breeze ruffles her thick, dark hair and I can smell the scent of her favourite shampoo. I remember everything we ever did together. Trick-or-treating, kissing practices, pulling pranks on the mall's old security guard, skinny dipping for the first time … Her holding me when I found out my mother had just died. She was so patient that day, stroking my hair and telling me that she would help me through it all. She would be my North Star, she said. I was surprised she knew anything about astronomy.

It's strange how you can know someone for years, but all it takes is a simple revelation to make you see that person in a whole new light. Tonight, the sky is starless and the moonlight is feeble, but I feel like I'm seeing Brooke for the first time. Really seeing her.

I lace my fingers through hers and turn her around to face me. "You're my North Star, Brooke."

The smile on her face pierces through the night, incandescent and filled with what I can only describe as wonder. It radiates through my body and for once, I feel completely content. Safe.

As my heart trembles in my ears, she leans forward and kisses me on the lips. The softest touch I've ever felt, brushing over my lips like velvet, cool and searing with nervous trepidation and untrammelled passion. She demands more and I give in, grasping at her hair as she slips a hand beneath the back of my shirt.

Tonight, I'm not surprised at how right this feels.