C'mon , what did you expect?

I wonder if you kept that pilgrim ashtray, if it’s still propped up on your bar cart

The townhouse felt too quiet. The football team’s accommodations weren’t stellar by any means, but the pair had done quite well with the space they had been given.

And now that small house felt massive. The door to their bedroom had been closed since the day of the accident, and she couldn’t bring herself to throw out his toothbrush.

The heavy glass ashtray still rested in Beau’s bar cart, next to a half full bottle of Smirnoff that would never be finished. The last time they had used it was two nights before his last big game, curled up on the expensive patio furniture set his parents had sent down from the Hamptons.

“Does coach know that you get stoned when you plan game strategy?” Beau had laughed, running his thumb along her calf. Her legs were tossed over his lap, a joint in one hand and a hardcover notebook in her lap.

“This is THC-free, unlike that shit you and Dean smoke. There’s nothing here that’s going to impair me in any way. It’s straight CBD, on prescription.” She corrected, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “And he doesn’t care, as long as we win.”

“Can I see your notebook of secrets?” Beau asked, lighting up his own joint. “Come on, baby. Let me in to that beautiful mind of yours.”

When she had first started working for the Briar football team, it had been admin work, which she had been fine with. It kept her close to Beau Maxwell, her high school sweetheart. Of course, all that time spent around a football pitch had rubbed off. She had boldly corrected the coach during a game one night, and when the players won on a strategy that she had suggested, she was promoted from administration to strategy the very next day.

She had laughed as Beau pulled her closer, trying to steal a glance at the notebook sprawled across her lap. “Being engaged to a member of the strategy team doesn’t give you special privileges, Maxwell. You’ll find out when the rest of the team does.”

When he kissed her that night, he tasted like weed and honey garlic barbecue sauce, a remnant from the boneless wings they had shared for dinner.

He pulled her on to his lap with his big strong arms, gazing up at her with wonder. “I can’t wait to call you my wife.”

Now, when she looked at that ashtray, she felt like she was going to vomit. That was the same way she felt when she went into their empty garage, the spare keys for Beau’s Land Rover hanging from the unfinished drywall. What were you even supposed to do with the spare keys for a car that was totalled with your fiancée in the front seat?

With a guttural cry, she flung the ashtray at the wall. She expected it to shatter, breaking into pieces the way that her heart had, but it didn’t. Instead, it fell to the floor with a thump, taking a chunk of drywall with it.

When she looked over at the hole in the wall, she realized glumly that the wall mirrored the way that her soul felt without Beau Maxwell.

could make a grand off of that chain you bought me, but goddamn it’s not for sale

She had told Beau that she didn’t want an expensive ring. While Beau had come from money, she was the eldest child of a teacher and a steel worker. Her childhood had been fantastic, don’t get her wrong, but it made her uncomfortable with large displays of wealth. Even when Beau presented her with jewelry or trips, she was never quite sure how to react at what she knew must have been a large price tag.

The simple gold band had a small diamond in the center, and felt light on her finger. Now, it burned her skin with a reminder of something she could no longer have.

She hadn’t been wearing it when the police knocked on her door. She had just gotten out of the shower, back from a night out with some of her friends. She was wearing fuzzy slippers and a bathrobe when she answered the door, her heart stopping when she saw the cruiser parked in her driveway.

“Ma’am, are you Beau Maxwell’s fiancée?”

“Yes.” Her voice had been shaky. “What’s happened?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident. May we come in?”

That was the precise moment when her world stopped turning. When six and a half years of a life she thought she was building for the long haul shattered.

She hadn’t been able to put the ring back on after that, but couldn’t stand to be without it either. Now, it was threaded through one of Beau’s gold chain necklaces, resting over her heart underneath her Briar football sweater as she prepared herself to enter the empty locker room and clean out his things.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

Joanna Maxwell stood behind her, looking only marginally better, in the sense that the great Joanna Maxwell rarely ever looked less that perfect, even in sweatpants.

“I don’t know what to do, Joanna.” Her voice cracked as she approached her sister-in-law. “We were going to start looking at wedding venues next week. I can’t even fathom calling to cancel and having to explain it.”

“Allie and I will handle that for you.” Joanna insisted, pulling her in for a hug. “He loved you so much. Sometimes it felt like all he did was talk about how brilliant you were and how he couldn’t wait to start a life with you.”

“I miss him so fucking much.” She sobbed, feeling like her heart had been ripped right open again.

As long as I live I’ll remember the names of your favourite beers and your video games. That look on your face when you turned twenty-six, and your dad got too stoned, yeah that one’s gonna stick

It was her fifth or sixth day of self pity and defeat (or maybe even longer- her sense of time had blurred since she had been taken to Hastings Memorial to identify Beau’s body) when Dean came knocking. He let himself in with the spare key Beau had given him, chest tight when he took in the state of the small living room.

YN was sprawled across the couch, buried under Beau’s Yankees blanket, head barely peeking out over the top. A chunk of wall was missing, an ashtray lying on the floor beneath the gaping hole. She was staring at her phone, emptily scrolling through pictures of her and Beau at their high school graduation.

“YN,” Dean’s voice was soft. “He wouldn’t want this.”

“He can’t want anything any more. He’s dead, Dean.” She cried. “Just like he’ll never sing show tunes while making breakfast, or kiss me in the middle of the football pitch after a big win.”

Dean sat down in the leather recliner next to the couch, his eyes taking in the mess scattered around the glass coffee table. Where there had once been magazines with wedding dresses circled, there were now brochures for funeral homes and 4 by 6 prints of YN and Beaus life together. Two mugs half filled with cold coffee sat on the table, one leaving a ring of condensation, the other looked like it had been there for days.

“Remember his birthday in Cape Cod, the year he turned twenty? When I accidentally fed his dad pot brownies?”

YN laughed, sitting up shakily in the couch. “Yeah. Fuck, I’d almost forgotten. Mr. Maxwell got up on the patio table singing All Summer Long. I’m shocked the table didn’t buckle under his weight.”

Dean laughed with her. “And that look on Beau and Joanna’s faces. I’ll never fucking forget it.”

She turned off her phone, placing it face down on the table. “Want a beer? It’s all Miller Lite. He loved that stuff, but I’ll never touch it.”

“Sure.” Dean nodded. “I’ll crack a six pack open in his honour around the fire tonight. The hockey house is hosting a vigil. You should come.”

She really didn’t want to. Didn’t want to submerge herself in everyone else’s grief as well as her own. Didn’t want to hear stories about Beau that would just rip her in two again.

But staying trapped inside a house of memories didn’t sound fantastic either.

“I have to call the condo corporation. I need to see if they can get someone to fix the hole I made.”

“That’s a weak excuse and you know it. You can’t shut yourself away forever. You aren’t the only one who’s hurting, YN.”

“We talked about kids. About the perfect house with a picket fence and dock in the back. Am I just supposed to forget about the life we were planning?”

I’ll never forget how I bloomed for your gaze, or your wall of guitars and your video games

After Dean had left, holding her to her promise to show up at the vigil with all the Miller Lite in her fridge, she found herself standing in front of the closed door to the master bedroom, her hand hovering over the doorknob like she was scared that it would burn her.

She took a deep breath, slowly turning it, giving herself plenty of time to change her mind as she opened the door.

The room was still, dust lingering in the air. No light seeped in, the blackout curtains pulled firmly closed. She forced herself to open them, letting the sun hit corners of the room that it hadn’t seen in a while.

The closet still smelled like him. Traces of his cologne were on all his shirts and sweaters. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she buried her nose in one of his resort shirts, soaking in the smell.

There was a stack of CD’s on his nightstand, each one of them an obscure musical soundtrack that he had picked up at a yard sale or traded his sister for. She picked up the one at the top, laughing when she saw what album it was.

Bat Out Of Hell. He had always promised he’d take her to see it, to hear the songs of Meat Loaf performed live to the background of a dystopian Peter Pan story.

The half-full bottle of his Ferrari cologne sat on a mirrored dish in their dresser, the bottle sitting pretty next to her Victoria’s Secret perfume. Everything in the room brought back emperors of the good times that she and Beau had shared, right down to the drawer of sex toys hidden at the bottom of his night stand.

She sink down on his side of the bed, smiling through the tears as she picked up the picture frame on his side of the bed.

It was their first trip together, when they were barely nineteen. The summer before they both came to Briar. They had gone to a cottage in Michigan. Beau had taken this picture on the paddle boat at sunset, a clumsy selfie where you could barely see their faces, but could tell how besotted he was with her.

You and your friends are in Malone’s to celebrate a successful game for your boys. It is an impromptu karaoke night due to popular demand.

Fortunately, Hannah and Allie are off work, which means they get to spend more time with Garrett and Beau respectively, as well as your other friends. Unfortunately, your miscellaneous fees do not wait for anyone or anything. Your tuition fee may be covered by your scholarship, but the other fees are not, which means that you get to work, even on a fine evening like this. You’re not really complaining though—money is money, even if it means not getting to party and drink with your boyfriend and friends.

Allie finishes her song onstage and you are the first to clap and whoop. “That’s my girl!” You cheer, flipping Beau off when he complains from their booth. “Fuck off, Maxwell, she was ours first!”

The crowd cheers for Allie and laughs at your playful banter with Beau.

You push off the bar, ready to serve a tray to a table of customers when something—or someone—makes you freeze in place.

“It’s good that she’s got great tits ‘cause the talent is nonexistent.”

You tilt your head slightly and spot a boy in a rugby jersey and jeans, standing with his equally lame, meathead friends.

You slam the tray back down on the countertop, the liquid sloshing over the rim of the glass. You grab the glass, wet with condensation and slightly sticky from the spilled drink, paying it no mind. The sharp thud of the tray hitting the bar catches the attention of your friends, as well as your quick, “This one’s on me, Della,” thrown over your shoulder as you storm through the crowd and straight towards the group of boys on the other side.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You sneer, grabbing Dumb Jock’s shoulder and spinning him around to face you.

Meanwhile, Dean straightens up, immediately abandoning his drink on the table. However, he does not immediately move to stop you, knowing that you can handle yourself—even against jocks who think with their dicks. That is, after all, how you met and how he fell head over heels for you the first time he saw you.

“What the fuck—” His jeer is instantly replaced by an arrogant smirk as soon as he spots you—an obvious employee at this very bar, looking for trouble. “Hey, that drink ours, girl? Sure, I mean, I’m not one to turn down a free drink, especially from a cute little waitress like you.”

“Dude, aren’t you helping your girl?” Logan turns to Dean in slight panic. Sure, he knows you can hold your own in situations like this, but not against huge rugby players—or so he thinks.

“I will when she needs me to,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, “The last time I stepped in before she told me to, she made me do a hundred pushups with her and Hannah on my back. I’m not that much of a masochist, man.”

On the other side of the bar, you smile sweetly at the asshole. “Sure, this drink’s for you.” Your sweet façade drops just as fast as it emerged. “If you repeat what you just said about my friend, asshole. Say it to my face, I dare you.”

“Ooh, scary.” Dumb Jock grimaces and shivers in mock fear and panic. “But about that, I said that your pretty little friend should be grateful she’s got a great body—especially those tits, man—because she’s got no talent.” He laughs and high-fives his friends like what he just said added to his charm.

You laugh wryly, matching their volume, before your expression drops once again. “I’m giving you a chance to take back what you just said, go over to my friend, and apologize.”

“Oh yeah?” He grins, walking closer and leaning towards you. He is all up in your face, pissing you off even more by the second. “Or what?”

“Or this.”

You don’t hesitate as you step back. You throw the contents of the glass straight into his face, letting your palm connect with his face with a sharp, loud thwack right after. The impact is strong enough to tilt his head to the side, his cheek flushing a striking red.

The bar around you quiets, all heads snapping towards your direction as the people—including your circle—watch with mixed feelings: disbelief, amusement, and concern. The guy’s own friends are standing still, shocked and slightly terrified—both for their friend and for you.

Dean stands straighter, his hands falling to his side—on high alert for the possible escalation of the situation.

Dumb Jock pokes his tongue into his cheek and rolls his neck before turning towards you, his eyes dark with anger. “Why, you little—” He curses, his hand raised in an attempt to get back at you.

But Dean is in between before the guy’s hand can even move from its position, shielding you from the asshole with his broad frame. His hand is gripping the other’s wrist tightly, his face devoid of any emotion—his jaw is set, but his lips are pulled in a dark, sarcastic smirk. “Woah, hey, man. You’re assaulting an employee of your favorite place? You’re going to get kicked out.”

Dumb Jock yanks his wrist from Dean’s grip and the latter lets him—Dean just wants this asshole gone as soon as possible. “Fucking bitch,” he sneers. He takes a step back, but he definitely does not back down. “Of course you had to have your man to save the day. Knew you little bitch was all bark and no bite.”

“You fucking asshole—” You lunge at the guy with your fist raised and pulled back, but Dean is quicker as he wraps his arms around your waist, effectively pulling you away from the asshole. “Dean, let me go! Let me fuck him up!” You thrash against him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“Calm down, babydoll,” he whispers into your ear, his arms tight around you but not enough to hurt you, “He’s leaving. Let him leave. Don’t waste any more of your time and energy. Your heart is beating like crazy. Deep breaths, sweetheart, there you go.”

But Dumb Jock is still not done with you—not yet. “That’s right, listen to your master.” He laughs mockingly. “Man, you have got to put your bitch on a tighter leash.”

The room stills—you freeze, Dean tenses up, even the temperature seems to have dropped. People sport various emotions on their faces: shock, anger, and fear—this time for Dumb Jock alone.

It’s one thing to rile you up—after all, you get riled up rather easily—but to piss Dean off is another. Dean—your voice of reason with the patience of a saint when it comes to you—is different when he is triggered, especially when it involves you.

Slowly, you feel his arms loosen around you and you grin, your fury settling into something cooler—even more chilling.

“Go fuck him up, baby,” he says quietly.

You stand straight once he unwraps his arms around you and takes a step back. You crack your knuckles and roll your neck as you step closer to Dumb Jock. Then without another word, you grab his collar to get him closer and you let your fist connect with his nose in a strong punch.

You feel and hear his nose crack under your fist, blood trickling down immediately.

“The next time I hear you talk shit like that, I am fucking breaking something more than your nose,” you spit, letting him fall into his friends’ waiting arms with a pathetic whimper. “Do you understand?”

He responds with nothing but a small whimper.

“I can’t fucking hear you.” You laugh mockingly. “You seem to be speaking fine just now.”

“Yes, I understand!” He whines.

“Good.” You nod before nodding towards Allie. “Now apologize.”

“I-I’m sorry!” He whimpers out.

“Louder!”

“I’m sorry!”

“Now leave.”

They don’t waste another second and all scramble out the door with their tails between their legs.

Later on, you are sitting in the booth with your friends and boyfriend. Your hand is now cleaned up and bandaged by Dean using the first aid kit you always keep with you, especially during work hours.

“That was fucking badass, babe,” Allie says, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Thank you so much, really. I owe you.”

“It was nothing.” You smile at her.

“Yeah, yeah, that was cool,” Dean says from beside you, obviously restless. “Now can we leave? I’m suffering here, sweetheart.”

You laugh and let your boyfriend lead you out of Malone’s.

Beau was the love of your life. He was the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for. He lent you his clothes, let you put your cold feet underneath his legs, let you play with his hair while he was trying to sleep, the whole nine yards.

But the thing you loved most about Beau, is how much he loved you. And with him, he loved loud. Beau didn’t hide his feelings from other people, or from you. He showed you off in every situation you were in, publicly, or privately. The thing that got you the most was how he showed his love for you. Not how he would say it ten times a day, which he would, but how he showed his love. 

He memorized your drink order at the local cafe, bought you something even though you only looked at it for not even two seconds, he looked for you first in every room, but most importantly to you, he cared for you. Beau cared for you so deeply that sometimes, you didn’t know what to do with all of it. 

A message every day, asking how your class went that day, or a phone call at night to make sure that you fell asleep at a good enough time so you could wake up at a decent time the next morning. Beau never complained when you asked him to do something, you never heard from friends or other girls that he was talking bad about you. Because Beau never had anything bad to say about you. Everything that left his mouth that even remotely surrounded you, was a positive thing. Not once did anything remotely vicious come out of his mouth the whole entirety of your three year relationship.

Beau was everything you asked for and more. 

When his grandmother’s birthday came up, you were invited to go with. Initially, you were excited to go, to meet some of his extended family, and spend some time with him in a domestic state. Both of you were cramped with classes and responsibilities, so it was perfect to get away from campus and be together. Surrounded by the warmth only each other could provide. 

But, you had an event come up that you couldn’t miss. Something with your department, and it was a huge opportunity for you. You were a fashion merchandising major, and some of the biggest fashion designers in the area were going to be at this event. When you brought it up to Beau, there was nothing but understanding written on his face. He cupped your face with his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Do not throw this away. It’s so big for you.” He assured you as he was about to leave. He brought you into his chest, smoothing your hair down your back. You stood next to his dad’s car, arms wrapped around his waist as you hugged him. 

“I’m gonna miss you.” His jacket muffles the words, but he hears them anyway. His grip around you tightens. 

“I’ll miss you too.” He says as he rubs your back. “But I’ll be back before you know it.” You separate and he looks down at you. “I love you so much, baby.” A smile grows on your face as you look up at him. 

“I love you so much, Beau.” He smiles as well, leaning down and capturing your lips in his. 

You watched as he and his dad pulled out of the parking lot, waiting until you couldn’t see the car anymore to walk back into your dorm. 

You didn’t know at that time, but that was the last time you would see the love of your life. 

–

The event went extremely well, you had so many networking opportunities, and you even had the chance to talk to a designer about a job after graduation. She told you that once you graduate, to get in contact with her and where you’re going to start. The business card is still sitting in your purse as you sit on the bed a day later, trying to get into contact with Beau. The last text you got from him was yesterday, asking how the event went. 

You replied telling him how it went so well, and you couldn’t wait to tell him all about it in person, but he hasn’t responded since. That wasn’t like him. As the call goes to voicemail for the third time, you get a call from his dad. You let out a breath of relief, answering quickly. “Hi, Mr. Maxwell! I’m so glad you called, I’ve been trying to get-” 

“Honey, are you sitting down?” the tone of his voice causes your heart to drop. 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. I am. Is everything okay?” 

“Sweetheart, I need you to take a deep breath for me before I tell you this.” You do as told, mind racing with all of the horrible possibilities that could have happened. “Beau and I were in an accident late last night. On the way home from his grandma’s birthday.” You feel your heart stop beating, you feel your breath sharpening. Mr. Maxwell’s voice cracks through the phone. “Honey, I’m so sorry, he died on impact.” The sob that leaves your mouth wrecks the older man on the phone with you. He continues to explain the situation to you, but you don’t hear any of it, all you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears, and screaming. But you’re not sure where the screaming is coming from. 

It’s not until your roommate, Poppy, comes running into the room you realize it’s coming from you. At this point, you’ve found your way to the floor, leaning against your bed. Your vision is blurry as Poppy takes the phone from you, talking to Mr. Maxwell as you heave and sob and scream on the floor, laying down and pulling your knees to your chest as you let out all the ugly sounds. “Yes, yes, yeah, I’ll take care of her.” You barely hear Poppy talk to him through the ringing in your ears, and you don’t even register knocking on the door. 

Poppy tells you to take deep breaths before she leaves the room, walking into the main area and going to the front door. There, stands Dean DiLaurentis, freshly off his own shock and his face immediately crumples when he hears your screams. Poppy tells him to make his way into your room as she’s still on the phone with Beau’s dad. 

Dean flies into your room, heart breaking for a second time that night as he catches sight of you crumpled on the floor, unintelligent babbles and cries coming from your mouth. Without hesitation, he sits next to you and forces you to sit up, before pulling you into his chest. This way, your cries and screams are muffled by his sweater, but the pain is still there. They’re quieter, but they’re still screams. 

You feel it even deeper when you realize that the only person you wanted to talk to about Beau Maxwell’s death, was Beau Maxwell. 

–

The next few days passed in a blur. Condolences sent through text messages and different social medias, emails sent to professors saying you couldn’t make it to classes, emails sent back telling you that you can take as much time as you need and not to worry too much about the assignments. 

Eventually, Beau’s family arrived at Briar, going to his own off campus house shared with teammates to retrieve his things. When they asked you to come with, you forced yourself to come along, holding in your tears enough to sit in the back of the car with Joanna as you all rode to the house. The car ride was silent, no radio, no chatter, nothing. It was horrible. It was exactly what Beau wouldn’t have wanted. 

When you all got there, his roommates were waiting on the porch outside. One of the guys, Mason, was the first to bring you into a bear hug. It was nice. It was needed. It took you ten minutes to stop crying in his arms. Each roommate took their turns hugging you and assuring you that if you needed anything, they were only one phone call away. You nodded, but didn’t really hear what they were saying as you walked up the steps to his room. 

Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell was already putting things in boxes by the time you got there, and practically everything was already done. They looked at you and handed you an empty box. “Take whatever you want.” Mr. Maxwell told you and that leads you here, alone in his room and so far, the box is halfway full. Trinkets that you got him for his birthdays or Christmas, multiple sweatshirts that you decided were yours now, a pair of sweatpants, and one of his hats. You reach for a picture frame on the nightstand, smiling at the picture of the two of you from the previous summer. 

One of your best hometown friends got married and you were a bridesmaid. When the bouquet toss happened, you were the one that caught it. Beau immediately ran to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest. And that’s the pose in the picture, him holding you up in the air, while you’re holding onto his shoulder with one hand and the bouquet you caught in the other. You’re both laughing your heads off, drunk off of each other. 

A tear slips from your eye and lands on the glass, causing you to wipe it off and smile before putting the frame in the box. Your eyes lead you to the nightstand, and while you’re a little scared by what you might find in there, when you open it, it’s seemingly fine. Nothing too scary inside awaits you. You almost close it back up until you notice something in the back corner. Curiosity causes you to grab it, and you gasp when you feel your fingers touch velvet. Quickly pulling it out, the bright overhead light highlights the small box in your hands. Your breath hitches, and you hope that it’s not what you think it is. 

Slowly, you open the box and when you see what’s inside, you feel your stomach drop and nausea hits you like a wave. Sobs leave your mouth as you lift your hand to cover it, but you’re too late, you hear footsteps rushing to the room. Your ears tune whoever it is out as you stare at the ring, it’s glinting in the light mocking you. It’s perfect. It’s everything you could’ve wanted and more. But it means nothing to you if it’s not Beau the one giving it to you. 

Dean stands in the doorway, watching as you gawk at the ring. He was there when Beau bought it. Said man told him that it was the most perfect for the most perfect girl. At the time, Dean thought Beau was being delusional. You two have only been together for a year at that point, but Beau was for certain that you were it for him. 

Before you can do anything else, Dean walks up and puts a hand on your shoulder. You turn slightly, looking up at him before closing the box, dropping it on the bed, and hiding yourself into his shoulder. Dean holds you as you cry into him, for what feels like the millionth time this week. 

Hearing your sobs doesn’t get any easier, and Dean feels like a part of him had been ripped out when Beau died. But seeing the way you’ve been taking it, has made him feel ten times worse.

–

Before you knew it, a month had passed. You attended the service, stood in the line where people wished their condolences, gave Beau one last kiss on the forehead, stared at his face in the casket for what felt like forever, and then watched as they lowered into the ground later on that day. 

You thought you could move on. You thought that everything would be alright. You were wrong. 

You reached out to that fashion designer, and secured yourself a job for after graduation. You were to start right away. Speaking of graduation, it lingered in the air. The thought of doing it without Beau after three years of looking forward to it. 

You think back to finding the ring in his room a month ago. Images of him proposing flash through your head. Before you know it, you’re thinking about what dress you would’ve worn to the wedding, what team he would’ve been drafted to, what type of house you would’ve lived in, what your kids would have looked like, and finally, images of you and Beau growing old together. It broke your heart, knowing that you would never get that with him. That he never got that at all. It all broke your heart. 

You refused to go even near the football stadium. There was a memorial for him there, flowers, candles, balloons, pictures, the whole thing was set up. You heard there were some pictures of the two of you there, but it didn’t budge you to go. You kept to yourself and your inner circle, rarely making new friends like you usually would. Without Beau, it all felt meaningless. 

One day, you got a call from Joanna, asking if you wanted to go get coffee. You agreed, and that’s where you find yourself now, a small coffee shop just off campus, sitting in a booth with the sister of your dead boyfriend, and neither of you know what to say. 

It takes a full twenty minutes before either of you speak up. Joanna is the one to break the silence. “He loved you so much.” The words are whispered, and you feel yourself breaking even though it’s barely anything. “When he would come home for breaks, it’s all he would talk about. How much he loved you, how you changed him, how he knew you were it. How he knew you were gonna marry him.” Tears leave your eyes, and you're surprised at it, because you thought that you ran out of tears a long time ago. “You were it for him, y/n.” You look at her and she has her own tears in her eyes. “I wish I could say something that could take all of your heartbreak away, but I do want to say one thing;” She takes a deep breath before saying, “Beau wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life with his shadow hanging over you. He would want you to live your life to the fullest. Whether that means moving across the country, travelling, or even falling in love again.” You scrunch your nose in disgust at the thought. You couldn’t imagine falling in love with anyone ever again. “Or not.” A small laugh falls from Joanna and you let yourself succumb to it as well. “Look, all I’m saying is that,” She pauses. “Beau wouldn’t want you to grieve him for the rest of your life. I know it’s only been a month, but I’m not sure when we’re gonna see each other again, so I wanted to get that out while I still could.” Before you could say anything, Joanna reached out and put her hand on top of yours. “The two of you may have never gotten married, but you have always been, and always will be, the little sister I’ve always wanted.” The words cause more tears to fall and Joanna is suddenly walking around the booth and settling next to you, wrapping her arms around you in a hug and letting you cry into her shoulder. 

Beau Maxwell was the love of your life. 

But he was also the loss of your life. 

A loss that will always leave an imprint on your heart and soul. 

You had been at the party for exactly forty-three minutes when you decided you had officially stayed long enough to leave without seeming rude.

Not that anyone would notice.

The thought came quietly, without bitterness. You had become good at slipping in and out of places without drawing attention. Lecture halls, dining rooms, dorm gatherings. You occupied space carefully, always conscious of where you stood and whether you were blocking someone’s way.

The hockey house was packed.

Music shook the walls, loud enough to pulse beneath your shoes, and every room seemed to hold twice as many people as it reasonably should. Someone had opened the windows despite the cold, but the air still smelled like beer, perfume, and too many bodies pressed close together.

Your roommate had promised she would stay with you.

She had said it three times while doing her makeup.

“We’ll go together, stay for an hour, and leave together.”

Twenty minutes after arriving, she had disappeared upstairs with a boy whose name you did not know.

You had received a text shortly afterward.

Don’t wait up! Love you!!!

You doubted she did.

Not in a cruel way. She simply did not know you well enough to love you. You had been assigned to live together at the beginning of the semester, and although she was friendly, there was a difference between being friendly and being friends.

You had learned that difference slowly.

You stood near the edge of the kitchen, holding a plastic cup filled with something fruity and overly sweet. You had taken two cautious sips before deciding you did not like it, but keeping it in your hand gave you something to do.

Around you, people shouted over the music.

A group of girls near the refrigerator laughed loudly at something one of them said. Two boys were arguing about a game you had not watched. Someone stumbled into you, sloshing beer over the back of your hand, and barely paused long enough to mutter an apology.

You wiped your fingers against the side of your jeans.

Forty-four minutes.

You could leave now.

You had already opened your phone to request a ride when someone spoke beside you.

“You look like you’re planning a prison break.”

You glanced up.

And then farther up.

Dean Di Laurentis stood beside you with one shoulder resting against the kitchen counter, a lazy smile curving across his face.

You knew who he was.

Everyone at Briar knew who Dean was.

Even if you had somehow missed the hockey games, the campus newspaper articles, and the stories repeated in whispered tones at parties, it would have been difficult not to notice him.

He was tall, blond, and unfairly handsome in the polished sort of way that made him look as though he had stepped out of an advertisement. His pale sweater fit him perfectly, pushed up at the forearms, and there was a confidence in the way he carried himself that suggested he had never once entered a room and wondered whether he belonged there.

You immediately became aware of everything you were doing.

The way your hair had started to frizz near your temples.

The awkward bend of your elbow.

The fact that you had been staring at your phone like it contained emergency evacuation instructions.

“I wasn’t planning a prison break,” you said.

Dean glanced at your phone.

“You were looking at ride prices with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.”

You locked the screen.

“I was thinking about leaving.”

“Already?”

“I’ve been here almost an hour.”

He looked around the crowded kitchen as if taking inventory.

“Honestly, that might be enough.”

You stared at him.

That was not the response you had expected.

Dean lifted his own cup toward the room.

“Someone broke a lamp twenty minutes ago, Garrett is threatening to ban half the freshman class from the house, and I’m pretty sure there’s a guy crying in the laundry room.”

“Why is he crying?”

“No idea. I didn’t ask. He looked like he needed privacy.”

A surprised laugh escaped you.

Dean’s smile widened.

It was not the practised grin you had seen him give girls across campus. It looked warmer up close. Less calculated.

“There it is,” he said.

You frowned. “What?”

“I was starting to think you couldn’t smile.”

Your face heated.

“I smile.”

“I believe you now.”

You looked down at your cup, suddenly wishing you had left two minutes earlier.

He must have noticed the shift because his expression softened.

“That came out wrong,” he said. “I only meant you looked miserable.”

“That isn’t much better.”

“You’re right.” He placed a hand over his chest. “I’m doing terribly.”

You laughed again, quieter this time.

Dean leaned closer, though not enough to crowd you.

“Can I start over?”

“You can try.”

He straightened and extended his hand with exaggerated formality.

“Hi. I’m Dean.”

You looked at his hand.

“I know.”

“That sounded ominous.”

“Everyone knows who you are.”

“Good things, I assume.”

You raised your eyebrows.

He sighed.

“Devastating.”

You hesitated before slipping your hand into his.

You told him your name.

His fingers closed around yours briefly, warm and gentle.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

Something about the way he said it made the words feel sincere.

You pulled your hand away before you could think too much about it.

Dean gestured toward your cup.

“What are you drinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s concerning.”

“My roommate handed it to me.”

“Where’s your roommate?”

“Upstairs.”

He followed your gaze toward the ceiling, understanding arriving quickly.

“And she left you down here alone?”

“She didn’t force me to stay.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You shifted your weight.

“She wanted to have fun.”

“And you don’t?”

“I do.”

Dean looked around again.

“Just not like this?”

You nodded.

He studied you for a second, not in a way that made you feel inspected, but as if he were genuinely considering what you had said.

“What do you do for fun?”

The question caught you off guard.

“What?”

“You said you like having fun. What does that look like?”

You almost asked whether he was making fun of you, but his face held only curiosity.

“I read.”

“Scandalous.”

“I go to the movies.”

“Alone?”

“Usually.”

He frowned slightly, and you immediately regretted saying it.

Not because there was anything wrong with going to the movies alone. You told yourself that often enough. But people tended to react in one of two ways: pity or disbelief.

Dean surprised you again.

“What was the last thing you saw?”

You told him.

He had seen it too.

Within a few minutes, the party receded around you.

He had strong opinions about the ending. You disagreed with nearly all of them. He accused you of defending a character who had made objectively terrible choices, and you argued that he was ignoring the entire point of the story.

“You’re wrong,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You are, but it’s cute that you’re committed.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you always become condescending when someone disagrees with you?”

“Only when I’m right.”

“You must be condescending a lot, then.”

He grinned.

“There she is again.”

You tried not to smile.

You failed.

Dean took your untouched drink and exchanged it for a sealed bottle of water from the refrigerator. He did not make a comment about it or ask whether you had had too much. He simply handed you the bottle and continued talking.

You noticed things about him gradually.

He listened.

Actually listened.

When you mentioned transferring to Briar, he asked why. When you said your previous school had not been a good fit, he did not push for details. When you told him your major, he asked what you wanted to do with it rather than making the same tired joke everyone else made.

You learned that he was studying history.

You had not expected that.

“You sound surprised,” he said.

“I am.”

“You thought I was majoring in hockey?”

“I thought you were majoring in parties.”

“That’s my minor.”

You rolled your eyes.

He laughed.

People interrupted him constantly.

A girl touched his arm and asked him to dance. One of his teammates shouted something from the living room. A boy you vaguely recognized wanted to know where the extra cups were.

Dean responded to each of them, but he always turned back to you.

As if the conversation had not ended.

As if you had not become invisible the moment someone more interesting appeared.

It was such a small thing.

It should not have mattered as much as it did.

After nearly an hour, the kitchen became too crowded to breathe comfortably.

Dean noticed before you said anything.

“Want to go somewhere quieter?”

The question sent a small pulse of alarm through you.

He seemed to read it immediately.

“The porch,” he clarified. “Not a bedroom.”

Mortification flooded your face.

“I didn’t think—”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

You looked away.

Dean smiled, but there was no cruelty in it.

“We can stay here.”

The kitchen erupted into shouting as someone attempted to climb onto the counter.

You winced.

“The porch is fine.”

He led you through the crowd without touching you until someone stumbled into your path. Then his hand settled lightly at the small of your back.

It was barely there.

Still, you felt it through the fabric of your sweater.

Outside, the air was sharp and cold.

You inhaled deeply.

The porch wrapped around the side of the house, dimly lit and mostly empty. Music still filtered through the walls, but it was muted now. The night felt calmer beyond the glow of the windows.

Dean dropped onto the top step and looked up at you.

“You can sit. I don’t bite.”

“I’ve heard otherwise.”

He stared at you for one stunned second before laughing.

The sound was bright and genuine.

You smiled despite yourself and sat beside him, leaving a careful amount of space between you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You watched your breath fog in front of you.

Dean leaned back on his hands.

“So why did you really come tonight?”

“My roommate asked me.”

“That’s the only reason?”

You considered lying.

Instead, you shrugged.

“I thought maybe I should try harder.”

“At parties?”

“At meeting people.”

His expression changed.

Only slightly, but enough for you to notice.

“You don’t know many people here?”

“I know people.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

You picked at the corner of the water bottle label.

“I transferred at the beginning of the semester. Everyone already had their groups. It’s hard to join when people have known each other for years.”

Dean was quiet.

You worried you had made the conversation uncomfortable.

You usually did that eventually. People liked quiet girls until the quietness revealed itself to be something heavier. Loneliness made others uneasy when spoken aloud.

You rushed to soften it.

“It’s fine. I like being alone.”

“Sometimes,” he said.

You glanced at him.

Dean’s gaze rested on the dark yard ahead of you.

“Sometimes you like being alone,” he continued. “Other times, you’re alone because no one thought to invite you.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

You looked down.

“That sounded depressing,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“No. It’s just…”

“Accurate?”

You nodded.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Then Dean bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Tonight wasn’t a complete failure.”

“No?”

“You met me.”

You let out a small laugh.

“And you’re very humble.”

“It’s one of my best qualities.”

“I don’t think you know what humble means.”

“I’m a history major, not an English major.”

“That excuse doesn’t work.”

“It was worth trying.”

You smiled at your shoes.

His shoulder remained against yours.

You did not move away.

The conversation shifted again. Somehow, you ended up telling him about getting lost during orientation and walking into the wrong lecture hall. He told you about accidentally calling one of his professors “Dad” during freshman year.

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“In front of everyone?”

“Full lecture hall.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Your mother and I are disappointed in you.’”

You laughed so hard you had to cover your mouth.

Dean watched you.

The laughter faded when you realized he was staring.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I know.”

The air between you changed.

Not suddenly.

It had been changing all night, growing warmer beneath the jokes and easy conversation, but now there was nowhere else to look.

Dean’s eyes lowered briefly to your mouth.

Your pulse jumped.

You knew his reputation.

You had heard the stories.

Dean Di Laurentis did not flirt without purpose. He did not sit on cold porch steps discussing movies and embarrassing freshman memories because he wanted friendship.

You should have stood.

You should have thanked him for the conversation and ordered your ride.

Instead, you remained still.

Dean lifted one hand slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him. His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair away from your cheek.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“You keep telling me how I feel.”

“You keep lying.”

You swallowed.

His thumb lingered near your jaw.

“Tell me to stop.”

You should have.

Instead, you whispered, “I don’t want you to.”

Dean’s expression softened.

Then he kissed you.

You had expected confidence.

You had expected him to kiss like someone who knew exactly what he was doing and knew that you knew it too.

You had not expected gentleness.

His mouth moved slowly against yours, warm and careful. He did not pull you closer until you leaned toward him first. Then his hand slid to the back of your neck while the other settled at your waist.

The kiss deepened.

Your fingers curled into the front of his sweater.

Dean smiled against your mouth.

“What?” you murmured.

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I know.”

“That’s distracting.”

“Sorry.”

He kissed you again, and he did not sound sorry at all.

The porch door swung open.

Cold light spilled across the steps.

“Dean, have you seen—”

The boy stopped.

You jumped away so quickly you nearly dropped the water bottle.

Dean turned, visibly annoyed.

“Logan.”

Logan’s gaze moved between the two of you.

A slow grin appeared.

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re currently looking directly at us.”

“I’m going blind as we speak.”

“Go away.”

Logan lifted both hands.

“Garrett wants to know where the spare keg is.”

“In the garage.”

“Thanks.”

He disappeared inside, still grinning.

You covered your face with both hands.

Dean laughed.

“This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Your friend is going to tell everyone.”

“Logan has walked in on much worse.”

“That does not make me feel better.”

Dean gently pulled your hands away from your face.

“Hey.”

You looked at him reluctantly.

“No one’s going to bother you.”

You believed he meant it.

That frightened you more than if he had been careless.

Because this was supposed to be simple.

He was Dean.

You were a girl he had met at a party.

You knew how this worked.

You knew better than to confuse attention with affection.

Still, when he asked whether you wanted to leave the porch, you did not say no.

His room was quieter than the rest of the house.

You stood just inside the doorway while Dean closed it behind you, leaving the noise on the other side.

For the first time all night, uncertainty crossed his face.

It disappeared quickly, but you saw it.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

He stepped closer.

“Do you?”

You nodded.

Dean studied you for a moment.

Then he reached for your hand.

His fingers threaded through yours.

“Tell me what you want.”

No one had ever asked you like that before.

Not as a challenge.

Not impatiently.

As if the answer mattered.

You looked at him, at the boy everyone claimed never cared enough to ask.

“You,” you whispered.

His eyes darkened.

He kissed you again.

The rest of the night became a collection of soft, blurred moments.

Quiet laughter when your knee bumped awkwardly against his.

His forehead resting against yours.

The way he asked if you were all right and waited for an answer.

The unexpected tenderness of his hands.

The room growing still around you.

And eventually, sleep.

You woke before sunrise.

For a few seconds, you did not know where you were.

The room was dark except for the faint gray light filtering through the curtains. A heavy comforter covered you, warmer than the thin blanket in your dorm. Something solid rested against your waist.

Then you remembered.

Dean slept beside you.

He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm curved loosely across the space where your body had been. His blond hair had fallen over his forehead, and without the easy smile or bright confidence, he looked younger.

Softer.

You watched him breathe.

A dangerous warmth opened in your chest.

Last night returned in pieces.

The porch.

His laugh.

The way he had listened to you.

The way he had looked at you as though you were someone worth noticing.

You turned toward him.

For one foolish moment, you imagined staying.

You imagined him waking and smiling when he saw you. Maybe you would talk for a while. Maybe he would remember the things you had told him. Maybe he would ask to see you again.

Then reality settled over you.

You knew who he was.

More importantly, you knew who you were.

Dean Di Laurentis woke beside beautiful, confident girls who understood the rules. Girls who could leave smiling because they had never expected anything more.

You were already making last night mean too much.

You could feel it happening.

The way your heart had tightened when he asked what you did for fun. The way you had stored every small kindness as though it were rare.

For him, it had probably been easy.

Dean was charming because charm came naturally to him. He made people feel special because he knew how.

That did not mean you were special.

The thought hurt, though it should not have.

You had agreed to one night.

He had never promised more.

The kindest thing you could do for both of you was leave before he had to make that clear.

Carefully, you lifted his arm and slid out of bed.

Dean shifted.

You froze.

He murmured something unintelligible and buried his face deeper into the pillow.

Your chest ached.

You found your clothes quietly.

His sweater lay across the desk chair, and for a moment, you remembered him draping it around your shoulders when you had complained about the cold.

You picked it up.

The fabric still smelled faintly like him.

You almost put it on.

The thought was so embarrassing that you folded it instead, smoothing the sleeves before placing it neatly on the chair.

Your phone had several messages.

Two from your roommate.

One asking whether you were safe.

Another, sent an hour later, containing nothing but several question marks and a winking face.

You ignored them.

Before leaving, you looked back at Dean.

You considered writing a note.

Thank you for last night.

Too formal.

I had a nice time.

Too hopeful.

Maybe I’ll see you around.

Too pathetic.

You opened the door without writing anything.

The hallway was empty.

Downstairs, the house looked different in the early morning. Cups covered every surface. Someone was asleep on the couch with one shoe missing. The air smelled stale and sour.

You stepped outside.

The cold hit your face immediately.

By the time your ride arrived, the sky had begun to lighten.

You did not look back.

Dean woke reaching for you.

His hand moved across the sheets, searching for warmth.

He found only an empty space.

His eyes opened.

For a moment, he thought you might be in the bathroom.

He rolled onto his back, blinking at the ceiling while the memories of the night before returned.

You laughing on the porch.

Your fingers curled into his sweater.

The sleepy way you had said his name.

A smile formed before he could stop it.

He had not planned anything beyond the party.

He rarely did.

But he wanted breakfast.

He wanted to know whether you drank coffee.

He wanted to finish the argument about the movie because you were still wrong and he had thought of three more reasons to prove it.

The bathroom door stood open.

Empty.

Dean sat up.

Your clothes were gone.

His sweater had been folded carefully on the chair.

He stared at it.

Something unpleasant shifted in his chest.

“Hello?”

The room remained silent.

He checked his phone.

Nothing.

He had given you his number at some point, hadn’t he?

No.

He frowned.

He had been too busy talking. Too busy kissing you. Too certain there would be time in the morning.

Dean got out of bed and pulled on sweatpants.

He checked the hallway.

Then the kitchen.

Then, absurdly, the porch.

You were gone.

No note.

No number.

Nothing.

He stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the door.

This was new.

Girls did not usually leave before he woke up.

Some did, of course. He was not arrogant enough to think it had never happened. But usually there was a text. A number written on a receipt. A teasing message sent later.

You had disappeared as if the night had never happened.

Logan wandered into the kitchen wearing a T-shirt and boxers.

He stopped when he saw Dean.

“You look weird.”

Dean ignored him.

Logan opened the refrigerator.

“Where’s your friend?”

“Gone.”

Logan glanced over his shoulder.

“Already?”

Dean’s jaw tightened.

“Apparently.”

“You get her number?”

“No.”

Logan slowly closed the refrigerator.

“You didn’t get her number?”

“I was going to.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

Logan looked around the empty kitchen.

“Solid plan.”

“Shut up.”

Dean poured himself coffee from the pot someone had left on overnight, took one sip, and immediately poured it into the sink.

Logan leaned against the counter.

“What was her name?”

Dean told him.

“Do you know her last name?”

“No.”

“Major?”

Dean answered.

“Dorm?”

Dean hesitated.

“No.”

Logan stared.

“Wow.”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?”

“Because you usually know everything about a girl within five minutes.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is absolutely true.”

Dean dragged a hand through his hair.

He could still hear your voice.

You had told him you transferred. You had told him what you studied. You had mentioned a lecture building and a professor you liked, but he could not remember the professor’s name.

He should have asked more.

He thought he had.

He thought there would be more time.

Logan’s amusement faded.

“Do you want to see her again?”

Dean looked toward the front door.

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly.

Logan noticed.

His eyebrows rose.

Dean pointed at him.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to ask whether you had finally developed human emotions.”

“Go put on pants.”

Logan grinned.

“This is incredible.”

“There is nothing incredible happening.”

“You like her.”

“I met her last night.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

“You checked the porch.”

Dean went still.

Logan’s grin widened.

“I saw you through the window.”

“I thought she might be outside.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Because you were hoping she hadn’t actually left.”

Dean hated him.

He hated that Logan was right more.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Garrett entered the kitchen, looking exhausted.

“Why are you two arguing before nine in the morning?”

“Dean has a crush,” Logan said.

“I do not.”

Garrett paused.

He looked at Dean.

Then at Logan.

“On who?”

“No one.”

“The girl from last night,” Logan supplied.

Garrett opened a cabinet.

“The quiet one?”

Dean frowned. “You saw her?”

“She was sitting with you on the porch.”

“Do you know her?”

“No.”

Dean’s shoulders fell before he could hide it.

Garrett noticed.

He turned slowly.

“Wait.”

Dean reached for a clean mug.

“Don’t.”

“You actually want to find her?”

“I said don’t.”

Garrett smiled.

It was worse than Logan’s grin because Garrett looked genuinely delighted.

“Dean Di Laurentis has been ghosted.”

“I have not been ghosted.”

“She left without giving you her number.”

“We forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“We were talking.”

Both boys stared at him.

Dean’s irritation sharpened.

“What?”

Logan looked at Garrett.

“He didn’t get her number because they were talking.”

Garrett nodded solemnly.

“This is serious.”

“You’re both idiots.”

Dean abandoned the mug and headed for the stairs.

Behind him, Garrett called, “What does she look like?”

Dean stopped.

He turned despite himself.

Garrett’s expression was still amused, but there was something helpful beneath it.

“If we see her around campus,” he said, “we can tell you.”

Dean described you.

He began with your hair.

Then your eyes.

The sweater you had worn.

The way you tucked your hands into the sleeves when you were nervous.

Logan’s amusement slowly disappeared.

Garrett stared at him.

Dean realized he had said too much.

He cleared his throat.

“She’s short,” he finished. “Quiet.”

Garrett’s mouth twitched.

“Very helpful.”

Dean flipped him off and went upstairs.

His room felt wrong when he returned.

Too quiet.

He picked up the sweater from the chair and unfolded it.

One strand of your hair clung to the fabric.

He brushed it away.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his phone.

He searched your first name.

Too many results.

He added Briar.

More results appeared, but none were you.

He tried your major.

Nothing.

Dean dropped the phone beside him.

This was ridiculous.

He barely knew you.

One night did not mean anything.

He had spent countless nights with girls he never saw again. That was the arrangement. No expectations. No disappointment. Everyone left happy.

You had left.

So why did it feel different?

He looked at the empty side of the bed.

Because he had not wanted you to.

The realization sat heavily in his chest.

Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he had gone to sleep beside someone already looking forward to the morning.

And you had vanished before it arrived.

You avoided the hockey house after that.

It was not difficult.

You had never gone there before, and you had no reason to return. Your roommate asked questions for nearly three days, but you gave vague answers until she lost interest.

You had met someone.

You had left with him.

It was fine.

You were fine.

You repeated that last part often.

In the mornings, while getting dressed for class.

At night, when the dorm became too quiet.

Whenever you saw blond hair across the quad and your heart reacted before your mind could correct it.

You did not regret the night.

That was the problem.

You remembered too much of it too fondly.

You remembered how Dean had made space for you in every conversation. How he had noticed when the kitchen became overwhelming. How carefully he had touched you.

You had expected to feel embarrassed afterward.

Instead, you felt lonely.

Lonelier than before because now you had something to compare it to.

For one night, someone had seen you.

Then you had left before he could look closely enough to change his mind.

It was better that way.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

Dean would move on quickly.

He might not even remember your name.

And eventually, you would stop glancing toward every crowded room, searching for him despite praying he would not be there.

You would return to your quiet routines.

Classes.

The library.

Dinner alone with a book propped open beside your plate.

You would become invisible again.

It had always been safer that way.

What you did not know was that across campus, Dean Di Laurentis had begun looking for you everywhere.

And each day he failed to find you, he became a little less convinced that one night had been enough.

It was obvious to anyone who looked that you were anxious. You’d been this way since the party two weeks ago, when the messages started again. Everything felt like it was adding on to your plate, and you retreated to the safety of yourself because that was easier than admitting it was getting to your head. 

You were getting more confident with the photography aspect of things, going as far as to create your own website with a portfolio and start booking sessions. The editing took the longest time, among all the touchups and styling to do. 

Jackson keeps you company for most of it. The library is quiet as the two of you sit in the study room, various supplies scattered across the table. You’ve dimmed the lights to something less fluorescent and have a soft playlist going in the background. 

Jackson sits across from you with an economics textbook wide open and a burn in his eyes that says he’s beyond done studying.

A notification comes across your laptop screen, and you’re smiling before you can stop yourself.

--

--

“What are you smiling at?”

You show him your screen so he can see Garrett’s messages. He blinks at the last text. “Don’t move?”

“I never know with him, honestly. Probably find out in ten minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Garrett Graham arrives in gray sweatpants, a hockey hoodie, and both hands full of goodies. 

“Hey,” You greet quietly, surprised at the sight of him out and about the night before a game. 

“Figured you could use a pick-me-up after today.”

He sets a drink down beside your laptop without making a big deal out of it before placing a bag from your favorite bakery there, too. Then another bag goes over for Jackson to reach for. 

“Wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got some options,” Garrett explains with a nod. He doesn’t sit on it for long, placing both hands on your shoulders to squeeze lightly. “I’m heading to the rink. Let me know when you get back with the girls, okay?”

You nod in agreement. He hesitates for almost a second before he decides it’s good enough. He looks over at Jackson. “See ya, man.”

“Yeah, thanks for the snacks.”

Garrett gives a small wave over his shoulder as he disappears through the doors again.

The room settles again without all the movement, and you don’t hesitate to rip into the bag of food that’s now in front of you.

“Does he do that often?” Jackson asks, his eyes looking toward the items in your vicinity. 

You shrug lightly. “He’s just always kind of done that.”

“Can I be honest with you?”

The phrase didn’t sound great, so you immediately knew where it was heading. You bit your lip and shifted in your seat to see him better. “I already don’t like that.”

Jackson laughs quietly. “I know, sorry. I just, I’ve been thinking recently. Those messages, from the unknown number, did… was there something between you and Garrett?”

There’s a small moment of silence before you answer. 

“Garrett… Garrett’s been my best friend since we were kids. We grew up together. Same high school, and now the same college. It’s really hard for me to ever remember anything where he wasn’t there,” You say honestly. 

“We’ve always been really close. Probably closer than most people would consider normal. We’ve stuck together around other romantic relationships and…” You sigh, pausing to give him a small smile. “Things were different when we got to college. We were able to be a lot more independent but also much closer. I just shadowed him for a long time because he was all I’d really known. And then we got into an argument and tried to get some space for a while.”

“Which evidently didn’t work,” Jackson offers with a smile. He closes his laptop, and you have a sinking suspicion that no more work will be getting done tonight.

You laugh and shake your own head. “No, no, it didn’t.”

Quiet settles over the study room, but it’s not tense. It’s comfortable and safe in a way that a lot of conversations never really see.

“I’m not gonna lie, I really like you. And I know you like me. We’ve had a lot of fun doing this. But I can also tell you look at him in a way you’ll never look at someone else.”

You open your mouth to disagree, but fall short. 

“It’s okay,” He reassures, “He’s a really lucky guy to have someone like you. And even though you guys have had some back and forth, I can tell you guys really care about each other. It’s sickeningly sweet.”

The laugh you let out is a mixture of sadness and agreement. You give him a sad smile. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Jackson shakes his head, but he honestly doesn’t look too upset. “No hurting from me, I promise. If anything, I think we could still be friends, if you’re up for that?”

You nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

--

Jackson drops you off at Allie and Hannah’s with another reassurance that everything’s okay. You thank him, kiss his cheek, and make your way inside. Part of you is reeling with guilt over the whole thing, but the other half doesn’t even care. And there’s zero sadness, which is surprising.

It wasn’t that Jackson wasn’t nice or didn’t do anything right. It was the exact opposite, actually. 

The apartment is quiet when you let yourself in. You kick your shoes off by the door and catch sight of Allie and Hannah in the kitchen area. There are two pizza boxes on the counter and Allie’s seated next to one as Hannah reads flashcards from her spot in the bar chair.

“Hey,” Allie greets quietly. It’s like she can immediately tell by the look on your face that something isn’t right. “How’d it go?”

You toss your backpack to the ground and lean against the counter, slowly letting out a breath. “It went okay.”

“Just okay?” Hannah follows up as she sets the flash cards down. 

“We broke things off. He knew I wasn’t really into it, and he’s right,” You lean your elbow on the surface to rest your chin in your palm. “I don’t know how long he knew, but it was long enough for me to feel shitty when he brought it up.”

Allie hops down from the counter to stand closer. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. I just feel bad. He’s a good guy, and I wanted it to work but…”

“But?”

“He told me I look at Garrett in a way that I never look at anyone else.”

Allie and Hannah go quiet, both of them looking at each other in a way that makes you suspicious. You stare at them, waiting for the ball to drop. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. What?”

“Nothing.”

You roll your eyes, stepping around Allie to grab a slice of lukewarm pizza from the box. “No, say it with your chest, Allie Hayes.”

Allie points at Hannah. The music major shakes her head with a laugh before looking back to you. “We’ve been saying the same thing for months, actually. You have one smile for Garrett, and another for everyone else. It’s hard to miss, Bug.”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “Oh, my God. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

“It’s humiliating!” You double down, but can’t stop the smile from forming on your face. They’re both laughing with you and the weight on your shoulders feels a lot lighter with it out in the air. 

Allie lets you take a few bites of pizza before she continues, “So, now what?”

You dust your hands off on a napkin and shrug. “What do you mean?”

“Are you gonna tell Garrett?”

You hesitate for a second before shaking your head. “I really liked this… this time away, you know? Like I got to hang with you guys, and our trip, and all of my photography stuff. It’s been so good, and I don’t regret any of it. But I’m also not gonna lie, I miss him. I miss us.”

Hannah nods in understanding before explaining, “So start there. Not with dating, and labels, and trying to fix everything. Just, slowly let him back in. Nobody’s saying you have to figure it all out immediately just because Jackson said something about it.”

She’s right, you tell yourself. Because you don’t have to decide right now. You don’t have to call Garrett and tell him what happened tonight. You don’t have to tell him anything at all, actually.

You can take this at your own pace. Little by little. You don’t have to go looking for him, but you also don’t have to hide from him either. 

Allie literally claps at the recognition in your eyes and it brings you back. “Yes! Oh my God, this will be fun. Operation Bugarrett is a go!”

You laugh, “Operation what the fuck did you just say?”

“Bugarrett,” She repeats, like it offers any clarity whatsoever. She settles a hand on your shoulder and refuses to explain further. “Just trust me. You do you and let Hannah and I handle the rest.”

You’re not convinced as you look between the two of them. They look devious, and you don’t really know how to feel about it. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say, Al.”

--

Malone’s is packed on a Thursday night, likely everyone enjoying one last night out before finals season begins. You’re tucked in a booth with Allie, leaning against her shoulder as she excitedly recaps rehearsal to Dexter and Hannah across from you. 

The boys are at the booth across from you, rowdy and excited for their upcoming game. You can easily recognise their voices through the noise, piecing together their conversation as you listen. You’re physically here, but mentally, you’re anywhere else.

This is the first weekend in a while that you don’t have a packed schedule, mostly because you want to be there to support the guys in the game, and you just need a solid break. Your social battery is fried and it took Allie a lot of begging to get you out of the apartment among your constant protesting.

You eventually caved, but it was obvious to anyone looking on that you were fading fast. 

And by anyone, that means Garrett.

He’s already looking at you when you risk glancing over. Not in an obvious way, but just enough that when your eyes meet, he gives you a small smile. It’s a silent are you okay that you haven’t seen in a long time.

You nod once. He nods back. 

The interaction lasts all of three seconds, but it’s enough to warm your skin.

“Babe, you’ve barely touched your food,” Allie’s voice drops in volume as she regards you. She knew you wouldn’t be the most energetic person tonight, but she’d rather not leave you alone with everything going on.

“I’ve been picking at them.”

“You’ve had exactly three,” Dexter says pointedly. 

“Did you sit here and count?”

“I got bored.”

You shake your head teasingly. Hannah laughs at the exchange, “You’ve been staring into space for a bit there.”

“I’m just tired.”

Allie studies you for another second before squeezing your knee gently. “You don’t have to stay.”

“I know,” You say as you adjust your positioning against her side to lean back against the wall so you can see Garrett easier without being obvious. “I want to.”

The conversation picks back up around you, but you’re not listening. Your eyes are half-way closed now as bits and pieces of the boys’ topics drift over. Garrett laughs and the familiarity of it all makes you realise how much you simply missed being around them. How much you’ve missed just existing in the same space.

After a few minutes, someone mentions getting another round of drinks and a mix of bodies shuffle their way around you. Allie whispers an apology as she pulls away from you, the warmth disappearing instantly and sending a chill down your spine. 

Across the aisle, Dean waves dramatically as if you can’t see his very obvious hand in your vision. You scoff and roll your eyes, shifting a bit in your seat like you’re not one breeze away from goosebumps.

“Yes, Dean?”

He’s smirking at you and Garrett’s peering over his shoulder curiously. 

“You look lonely.”

“I’ve been alone for approximately 40 seconds.”

“And?”

“And I’m enjoying my silence.”

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying the silence, babydoll.”

You laugh, tucking your feet closer like it’ll provide any comfort. “You’re so annoying.”

“Heard that before.”

Garrett shakes his head, the hand that isn’t holding his drink slapping against Dean’s shoulder lightly. “Leave her alone.”

Dean points toward you as if it offers any defense. “I am simply including her.”

You laugh and in a moment of weakness, you’re standing. Not because Dean asked, not because Garrett did either. You’ve spent the last hour feeling like you’re sitting beside everyone instead of with them. 

You’re standing next to Dean, gaze looking at him pointedly, teasingly. “Move.”

Dean pretends to be offended, as if he didn’t know what he was doing this entire time. “You telling me to move?”

“I like this booth better.”

Dean keeps eye contact with you as he stands, the knowing smirk on his lips getting increasingly worse when he reaches his full height and looks down at you, now. The flirt in him never really disappeared. “Oh? Why didn’t you just say so?”

You slip into the seat easily, like your heart isn’t picking up speed. Garrett fights the pull in his muscles to tuck you under his left arm and into his side. Like he would’ve. Used to.

Dean slides back in on the other side of you, purposefully bumping you further into the booth until your thigh is pressed into Garrett’s. Being pinned between two walls of hockey-based muscle doesn’t give much room, but one thing is for sure…

You’re not cold anymore.

Eventually, Logan, Tucker, and Beau slide back in on the other side of the booth. There’s no big noise about your sudden presence. They’re well aware your social battery is one conversation away from dying completely, so they continue to build around you. Safe. Lovingly.

Allie winks at you when she sits back down in her original seat.

“She’s over there?” Hannah’s asking a bit quieter, but not really since it’s so noisy. She’s trying to play it cool and not peek around Dexter’s shoulder, but she’s itching to. “Did it work?”

Allie keeps her eyes on your form, tucked between two people who would rip the world apart if it meant getting to you. And she loves Dean for it, because Dean loves you in a way that’s so different from how he loves Allie. You’re an extension of Garrett, and Garrett is one of Dean’s best friends, and you’re one of Allie’s. There’s nothing Dean or Allie wouldn’t do to protect the people they love.

“Yeah.” Allie nods and takes a sip of her drink, smiling when Dean sends a knowing, sneaky look in her direction. As if this wasn’t an undercover operation the whole time. As if this hadn’t been her goal when she pushed you into the booth on a side that would give you a view of Garrett. As if Dean hadn’t made up some bullshit lie about needing to sit on the outer seat tonight. 

 “Yeah, it worked.”

-- 

Things shift two days later. 

You’ve got your set up across Allie and Hannah’s counter, pining through hundreds of photos from the hockey game earlier that night. The social media team was in love with you, simply because they didn’t have to risk trying to coordinate sweaty athletes as they operated in their space. You already had the ability to handle half of them. 

And if the captain listens to you, they all fall in line shortly after.

You should’ve gone to bed hours ago, but the win had been too good, and you wanted to get some images edited and shared out before the morning. 

The game photos are spread across your screen and you catch yourself smiling as you scroll through them. Tucker screaming into the camera, Dean practically tackling Logan after a good play. 

You stop on one photo. 

The whole team is celebrating. And then there’s Garrett, looking away from your lens as he laughs at something being said. 

It’s not even your favorite shot. The lighting is messy, the angle isn’t perfect.

But it feels so much like him. 

You’re still staring when your phone lights up with a notification. Reading the number takes your smile away just as quickly.

--

--

Your stomach drops, breath catching in your chest as you look over your shoulder. Allie closed the curtains hours ago, but it still feels like someone’s seeing straight through them to get to you. Like whoever sent it knows exactly where you are.

The first instinct is to stop looking at it. If you don’t look at it, maybe it’ll go away. Maybe it was never real in the first place. 

But then your thumb moves, and you’re pressing the call button before you can talk yourself out of it.

Garrett answers on the second ring.

--

Across campus, the hockey house is still buzzing with energy. The win has easily turned into one of those nights where nobody wants to go to sleep just yet. 

Garrett’s in a heated debate with Tucker about their drive patterns of the game when his phone lights up with your name.

“Hey.” There’s a surprise to his tone and a smile on his face until he’s greeted with silence on your end. “Bug?”

You swallow. “Hey.”

One word. It takes one word, and he knows. “What’s wrong?”

“I got another message.”

Garrett’s already standing because something in him is pulled tight and dangerous, like a live wire ready to go. 

Dean notices and sits up a bit straighter. Allie’s gone quiet next to him. “Everything okay?”

Garrett doesn’t answer because his focus is on you and the shake in your voice. “Where are you?”

“Allie’s.”

“Are you alone?” 

There’s quiet for a second. “Hannah’s closing tonight.”

Garrett’s already got his shoes on, the keys to the Jeep stabbing into his palm solidly. “I’m coming. Stay where you are.”

“Garrett.”

“I’m coming,” He repeats in a more direct tone. 

“You don’t have to.”

Garrett takes a second to pause and breathe. He glances over his shoulder where he’s got the attention of his friends, all awaiting his explanation. “I know. I want to.”

He reassures you he’ll be there in a minute before the call ends.

Allie tosses her drink in the garbage and pulls her own heels back on before throwing Dean his jacket from the hook, even though she has no idea what’s going on. “We’re coming.”

“What’s going on?” Logan asks when he finally gets an opportunity. 

“She got another message,” Garrett’s answer is blunt, but it’s honest. 

He watches the reactions in real time as defeat swallows the group whole, which he knows you would hate. Everyone wants this to be behind you. The mood feels like it’s sucked out of the room, but the focus is on you now, and what comes next. 

“Is she okay?”

Garrett nods to Tucker’s question. “Yeah, but I’m going. If anything changes, I’ll call you.

Nobody argues or disagrees when Allie and Dean follow him out the front door and into the night. Because it’s you. And if you called Garrett, they already knew everything was going to be okay.

The drive is almost silent. Garrett’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are turning white. 

Dean glances over, taking in the tension in his friend’s posture. He knows nothing will help until Garrett’s got eyes on you to assess everything for himself. 

“She called me.”

The sentence hangs in the air for a moment like nobody quite knows what to do with it. 

Dean bites first. “She called you?”

Garrett nods once, his eyes locked on the distance between you and him. “She called me.”

Dean notices the change in tone. He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t ask more. But he catches Allie’s eyes in the backseat, and the two of them share a small smile because it’s working.

Operation Bugarrett is officially underway. 

--

Allie Hayes likes to think she’s a decisive person, even if she isn’t. She’s comfortable making decisions for other people, especially her people-pleasing friends who need her more than they think.

So, she recruits her boyfriend and creates a new operation.

--

“This feels like an intervention.”

You’re sitting in the kitchen, a fresh drink and accompanying pastry laid out in front of you. Dean had come back from practice faster than the other boys (not unheard of, but still… weird) and practically dragged you downstairs.

Across the island countertop, he and Allie are looking at you expectantly.

“It is,” Allie answers honestly. She’s sharing a look with Dean, a smile growing on her lips as she leans in closer. 

You break off a piece of the snack and blink up at them curiously. Your chewing pauses for a moment. “What?”

“Move in with me.” Allie’s practically beaming as she bounces on her feet. “Move in with me, silly! It’ll be fun!”

Dean sighs at her lack of explanation. “What she means to say is, we think you need a change of environment and therefore, you should move in with Allie.”

The aforementioned girl waves her hand in his direction. “Details and things. Come on! You’ve been in a slump since everything happened, and I really think it would be good for you to get some space from-”

“From Garrett?” You finish her sentence, a twinge of amusement on your lips before you take another bite. They both wince as if they’re expecting you to shut the idea down, but you don’t.

Dean rests his forearms on the island so he can be level with your gaze. “Can I be honest with you?”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“I think you’ve spent so long being Garrett’s person that you forgot how to be yourself.”

His words are gentle, but they still sting regardless. Dean’s watching your reaction carefully to make sure he doesn’t prod in too deep. “I don’t think that’s healthy for either of you.”

Allie nods in agreement, setting her hand on Dean’s arm to reassure him they’re doing the right thing, even if it feels rough. “I love how much you guys love each other, Bug. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

“But?” You offer.

“But you deserve to know who you are when Garrett Graham isn’t standing next to you.”

The statement hurts harder than you expect, even if you’d been thinking it yourself. After The Fifth Line posts, the messages, the overheard conversations, you’d been wondering if you existed without the context of Garrett in the same sentence. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” You admit quietly. Your eyes are damp with realization, and it’s mildly embarrassing, but you try not to focus on that.

“We know.” Dean takes the seat next to you, his hand warm on your back as he glances over at Allie. “That’s why we think this would be a good idea.”

Your hands nervously fidget with the straw of your drink.

“You’re not leaving Garrett. Listen, I love the guy. I do, but he’s been your entire world for years. That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“You’ve gotta make your own world, Bug. You deserve that, too.”

You nod in understanding, even if your chest feels like it’s splitting in two because you don’t know who you are without Garrett Graham. And you want to. You want to know that part of you that can survive if one day he picks someone else.

Allie and Dean stay quiet as you process all of it. You’re staring at the condensation on the drink cup.

“If I come stay with you, will you make me go to those terrible theatre parties?”

Allie laughs, the tension in her shoulders loosening. She reaches over the counter to hold your hand. “They’re fun, and chaotic, and they’re full of people who don’t know Garrett Graham.”

Full of people who will get to know you, not as Garrett’s best friend, not as the girl from the hockey house. Just you.

The thought is terrifying, but it also feels a little freeing. 

For the first time since everything happened, it doesn’t necessarily feel so scary. Not because it's all fixed, but because for once, you won’t have to figure it out on your own.

--

--

Garrett Graham likes to think he’s prepared to handle anything that comes his way. He’s built himself to make sure someone doesn’t get the slip on him. But it’s never been like that when it comes to you.

He stands there, leaning against the bedroom door, watching you fold another sweatshirt, and he realises that he’s cruelly unprepared for this.

You hesitate for a second when you catch his shadow in the corner of your eye, but you set the sweatshirt in the bag anyway.

"Hey."

“You’re moving in with Allie?”

You nod without looking up. You’d agreed with her and Dean shortly after, and part of you was excited, but you knew this was going to be the hard part.

Garrett shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweats, shifting his stance. He forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Fake. 

“So, I guess this is goodbye to my closet?”

You let out a small laugh. The tension loosens instantly. “I think I’ve packed three of your hoodies already.”

“I was counting on it.”

Garrett looks around the room, the room that’s been just as much yours as it was his - the chargers on the nightstand, the books on his desk. There were pieces of you everywhere, slowly disappearing before his eyes.

“I’d be lying if I said I liked this.”

Your hands stop moving as you finally cave and look up at him. “I know.”

Garrett swallows, eyes struggling to keep looking at you. “My first instinct was to tell you not to go.”

Your eyebrows lift in curiosity (and partially because you had wanted him to say that, deep down).

“I wanted to tell you that you could stay here, that I’d stay on the couch. That I’d do… whatever you needed if it meant keeping you here. But I don’t think that’s what you need.”

Garrett comes to sit next to you, letting his leg press into yours as he takes in what you’ve already pushed into your suitcase. “And I think I’ve let you spend so long taking care of me, that somewhere along the way, you stopped taking care of yourself.”

You let out a sharp breath, trying to keep a grasp on the whirlwind of emotions. “Why does this feel like a goodbye?”

Garrett places his hand on yours. “That… that’s not what I want it to feel like. As much as I don’t want to lose you, I want you to find yourself again after everything that's happened. And me being around isn't going to help that.”

“I don’t know where this leaves us," You say honestly. Because you're very much still friends, but it feels like taking a break (and it kinda is), and what the hell is going on?

Garrett’s expression softens, and he tries to muster an encouraging smile, but his heart's aching, and he knows this is all a combination of his fault. “I don’t either.”

“But we’ll figure it out, Bug. We will.”

Garrett holds you carefully when you lean into him, like he’s afraid that if he squeezes too tightly, you’ll slip through his fingers.

And maybe you will. Maybe that’s the whole point.

When you finally pull away, he presses a lingering kiss against your forehead. 

It's a quiet reminder that even if loving each other had become complicated, choosing what was best for you didn’t have to be.

--

Living with Allie is fun. She’s good for you and outgoing, and she refuses to let you sit in your head. You’re learning more about yourself, finding friendships, and trying new things. It’s exciting to be someone new. 

Some things stay the same.

You still talk to Garrett and the boys. It’s not like they completely disappear from your radar. You’re still in group chats and sending memes and seeing each other throughout the week. It’s awkward at first, but then everything blends like it used to, and you feel good.

You’re still in the crowd at hockey games, but this time, you’re in your own clothes. You’re sitting with Beau, Allie, and Hannah, but you’re not waiting in the parking lot afterwards. There are still parties, and coffee dates, and someone walking to class with you, but things are different. Good different.

You’re picking up photography as if you had never left it behind years ago. There’s a freshness to it all that you didn’t even realise you’ve been missing for so long. Life slides by in photo dumps, aesthetics, and capturing the raw moments that feel so important to growth.

--

Allie is a devious girl because she knows the second you have wine in your system, you’re giggly, happy, and clingy. She knows you won’t tell her no. So obviously, she waits until you’re halfway through your glass before acknowledging her previous text.

“Okay… so?” Allie taps her hands against the counter like a drumroll, eyes eagerly flitting between you and Hannah. “Girls’ trip!”

“I mean…”

“Oh my god, you guys, come on!” Allie whines and bounces on her feet. “We skip Friday class, we drive to the freakin’ beach, and we have a whole weekend! It’s literally that simple.”

“Allie…” 

“You can’t say no, I already booked the Airbnb.”

You’re nearly cursing to yourself, but give up and laugh instead because, of course, she already booked it. When Allie Hayes wants something, she gets it. And it was obvious she wanted this.

“Fuck it, we’re going to the beach!”

Fairy tales had been thrust into your life as a young girl since before you could walk, you knew all the lyrics to every Disney princess song by the time you were six. 

By your tenth birthday, you had a book made that had every single wish and want that you had for your future boyfriend. 

Your parents swore that if your second love for running hadn’t come into your life. You would have lived each day to dream. 

By the time that you were 18, you had experienced twelve new kisses, three boyfriends, one of whom was a sexual partner too. 

You had nothing against any of them, but when each one ended, you never seemed that phased, as if you knew it was going to end.

It was because you knew that you hadn’t met your person. 

Or at least that was the case until Garrett Graham came into your life.

You'd met at a hockey party, argued over a game of beer pong, and kissed in the kitchen an hour later. Garrett Graham had smiled against your lips and you laughed at everyone else who swore that he was going to be the boy to break your heart.

With every anniversary or milestone that you two have reached. You swore that they were all wrong and that you and Garrett were truly meant to be. 

Your friends joked that he was your very own Noah Calhoun, as the man was practically a shadow of himself if you weren’t around. 

He showed up to every track meet with flowers as he sat right next to your parents, cheering you on while you ran down the finishing straight. And if your parents couldn’t make it, then Garrett gave them the world’s longest play-by-play afterwards. 

The two of you were perfect together. By the end of sophomore year, the boys joked that your wedding would happen before you both graduated. Tucker had these long thoughts about how he’d design your wedding cake. While Dean and Logan argued over who would be the officiant of the wedding.

You never told either boy, but you knew that it would actually be Beau who filled that slot. 

Most days when you had downtime, you spent them sitting on the boys’ couch. Most of the time, you were attempting to do work or edit your training schedule. Before, it was Garrett who would try to distract you. 

Smothering you in kisses or pulling you into his arms as he shut your laptop. But now, it was Dean looking over your shoulder to see what you were working on or Tucker offering you a snack. Occasionally, you even got an appearance from Logan, who taught you the basics of mechanical work. 

And that day seemed no different “sorry babe, I can’t do our date tonight.” Garrett leaned over the couch as he pressed a kiss on your cheek. 

You held back a sigh as you turned your head to face him “why is that?” You asked as you frowned, a little upset, actually, “Hannah rescheduled our tutoring session.” 

Dean awkwardly sat next to you as you forced yourself to smile, “tell her I say hi!” The blonde swore in that moment that you were squeezing your laptop so hard you might almost break it. 

Garrett nodded before he left for the door without a second thought “okay so am I just like a fucking idiot or does everyone else see that?” 

Logan nodded from the kitchen, “third time this week now?” And that was what almost made it official.

You got up as you shook your head “I am going to go throw myself off of a cliff before I hit him.” You announced to the boys who all frowned “just talk to him seriously.” 

You knew Tucker came from a good place, which is why you didn’t tell him how wrong he was “we have just found a way to stop fighting with each other-” you sighed as you looked to the front door where Garrett left from. 

The truth was that for the past three weeks, the two of you couldn’t go a few minutes without fighting. 

The topics varied. 

Sometimes, Garrett felt like you didn’t care that he was stressed with being captain. Other times, you felt like the little time left in your schedules should be used on each other. 

And when it got particularly bad, you actually stopped keeping track of what seemed to set the two of you off. 

This date night that Garrett kept bailing on was meant to be the real proof that the two of you had turned a page. 

That the rough that you had been dealing with was just weeds in a garden, not rot within the house. 

Dean clicked his tongue “bit hard to fight him when he keeps on seeing her instead.” She was Hannah Wells. 

You met her a few times in passing, the girl complimented your pace and you always loved the way that she was so friendly at Malone’s.

She had started tutoring Garrett in philosophy a few weeks ago and was Garrett’s newest excuse for why he was too busy for you. 

Training, film review, school, tutoring, if there was an excuse to get out of seeing you, you had heard it. 

At the beginning, you really didn’t mind, you knew he was busy because he had all of these responsibilities. 

But a responsibility is telling your girlfriend that you need to reschedule your anniversary date, hours in advance. Not when you were sat at the restaurant, a glass of wine in and the waiter actually ended up giving it to you on the house as he felt bad. 

For every excuse that he gave you, you found another help make his case. 

And by now you were starting to get a little more than just irritated “I am going to bid you boys farewell and hope that you are having more sex than your captain before I say anything else!” You shoved your laptop in your bag as Logan frowned when Dean laughed.

He stopped what he was working on in the kitchen as he came out to face you before you left “you know, girlfriend or not, we are your friend too.” Dean and Tucker nodded at his words. 

It made you softly smile “love you, boys.” You kissed your fingers before you waved them goodbye. 

As you left the house, your nose scrunched, because that place stopped feeling like Garrett’s. In fact, it was starting to feel a whole load like there was a river between the two of you that neither one was ready or willing to cross.

Garrett called out your name when he saw you.

You didn’t turn right away.

That was new for you. Normally, you’d turn instantly, instinctively, like muscle memory. Like gravity.

But this time, your body lagged behind your pride and even your brain as you contemplated ditching the heels you were in to break into a sprint.

He caught up quickly anyway.

Athletic stride, slightly out of breath, like he’d been running through excuses before he even got to you.

When he stepped into your line of sight, you finally looked at him.

And something in your chest tightened at how normal he looked. Like he hadn’t just not shown up to one of the most important nights you’d had planned in weeks “I got held up,” he said immediately.

Not an apology.

Not yet.

Just the explanation he must’ve rehearsed on the way here.

You blinked once, “you didn’t come.” He looked at how gorgeous you looked that night. 

You’d never tell him that you bought the dress specifically for that night.

His mouth opened, then closed again. Like he’d expected you to argue with him instead of just stating it plainly, “I tried,” he said, softer “coach pulled me in after practice and I lost track of time. Then film ran longer than it should’ve and-”

You nodded slowly, cutting through it without raising your voice “I sat there for an hour without anything from you.”That stopped him.

Properly stopped him.

Because now it wasn’t a scheduling issue or a misunderstanding or something messy he could rearrange into something forgivable.

It was just time“I know,” he said, rubbing a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself more than anything else now.

Garret sighed as he rubbed his face with his hand “I should have called or texted or.” Then list stopped when he noticed how you frowned 

You weren’t interested in an excuse, especially not from him tonight “you should’ve come,” you interrupted quietly as you knew Coach Jensen would never force the guys to stay for review.

Silence settled between you.

Not the loud kind. Not the angry kind.

The kind that felt like it had been building for weeks and finally found somewhere to land.

You looked past him for a second, at the path behind him, at the restaurant district lights in the distance “I kept telling myself it was fine,” you said, almost to yourself. 

You pushed your hair up behind your head “that I just needed to be understanding this week.” A big game was coming up against another highly ranked team

Your fingers tightened slightly around your phone “but I’m starting to feel like I’m always the one making space for you.”His jaw flexed. He looked like he wanted to interrupt, but didn’t.

That was the worst part.

Not denial.

Not defensiveness.

Just him listening like he knew he didn’t have a clean answer, “I really didn’t mean for tonight to go like this.” And that was the problem. 

Because Garrett never meant for anything to ever go like this.

Yet somehow it always did “I know,” you replied.

And you did.

That was what made it worse.

Because even as you stood there, remembering how embarrassed you felt when you left the restaurant alone. Your throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady “I just wish you were there tonight.” You felt stupid for keeping things to yourself; you wanted Garrett to act like things actually mattered. 

That landed differently.

He stepped closer, slower this time, like he was afraid of pushing you further away “I’m here now,” he said, wishing that it was enough.

A young couple exited one of the buildings behind Garrett with their hands locked into each others and grins on their faces. 

The boy leaned over to say something that made the girl laugh and you knew exactly how that felt. 

Because Garrett used to be like that with you.

You could feel it in the way you weren’t reaching for him. In the way he wasn’t touching you yet either.

Like both of you were suddenly aware that something fragile had been stretched too far “I don’t want this to become normal,” you said, making the boy clench his teeth.

His eyes snapped to yours at that.

“What?”

“This,” you clarified, gesturing slightly between you “you not being there. Me convincing myself it’s okay.”

His expression tightened “I promise that it won’t,” he said immediately. Too fast. Too certain.

You shook your head once “please don’t promise me that if you don’t mean it.” That hit him harder than anything else you’d said.

Because you were right.

He couldn’t say he’d give you the world if he only planned on showing you one town. 

He stepped closer again, but slower now, more careful “I messed this up,” he said honestly “I did. And I hate that I did it tonight of all nights.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Really looked.

Not at the hockey player everyone talked about.

Not at the captain people relied on.

Just at the boy who was standing there like he didn’t know how to fix something he couldn’t outwork.

The same boy who told you during your freshman year that he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you “I don’t need you to hate it,” you said softly. “I just need you to show up.”

That time, he didn’t argue.

He just nodded once, like he was taking the weight of it fully.

Then he stepped forward, and you didn’t resist it.

But you didn’t fully lean in either.

His arms wrapped around you anyway, steadying you like he could physically hold together something he was scared he was losing.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, and you felt his hand rest at the back of your head.

And then he pressed a kiss there.

Just quiet.

Like a promise, he didn’t know how else to say out loud.

When he pulled back slightly, his voice was low “I’ll make it up to you,” he announced as he hooked his fingers under your chin. 

Garrett wanted to tell you that you looked gorgeous, but somehow the words never left his lips “I’ll make it up to you properly.” And as you nodded, Garrett let his jacket hang on your shoulders before the two of you walked back to your dorm.

By the time that drunken Shakespeare had come and gone, it was official that everyone knew something was going on between the two of you. 

The IT couple of Briar U had cracked, because they weren’t as perfect as everyone had started to believe. 

You tried to ignore the rumours about Hannah and Garrett, but you knew you were just an idiot. 

It had been days since the two of you had spoken, almost a month since Garrett sent you a good morning or goodnight text. 

The boys kept their promise as they continued to check up on you. In the first two weeks, it was because they really did miss you. But by now they were worried. 

It was the fact that there was no real end in sight because Garrett still spoke about being your boyfriend, when he seemed to remember your existence. 

And you still let your eyes settle on the door, as you waited for your Garrett to walk back in.

For him to tell you that he was so sorry for the way he had you feeling like it was your fault.

It had been weeks of you swearing that you were fine. 

And that should have been something that the boys listened to, but they knew you better than that. 

You had been going on late-night runs every day, and each time you wanted to stop you couldn’t.

The two of you had texted occasionally, throughout the time apart. But you hadn’t see the boy in person. 

It wasn’t even vocalised between the two of you that there was something wrong. 

And that was what left your runs to be the longest ones you ever did. 

Because somehow, your anger drove your feet.

Further and harder than you ever thought was possible.

The quiet and clear sky somehow managed to soothe your mind. 

And on this particular night, it seemed that Garrett had the same idea when he stood outside of the library. 

He was in the middle of a tutoring session, and he craved the break he got from the solitude. 

So when he saw you running, part of him thought that he would have ducked to go back inside. 

But instead, his feet drove him directly into your path “hey,” he nodded as you pulled your AirPod out of your ear.

You cocked your head “hi.” You pursed your lips together, a little surprised that he was talking to you. 

It had probably been over a month since Garrett initiated a conversation with you in person. 

You crossed your arms as you waited for him to talk “how are you?” The small talk between the two of you felt weird.

And you had to admit that you weren’t a fan of it “I’m glad to hear you still remember how to talk to me.” Your words were honest, and it was what hurt. 

Garrett scoffed, “of course I know how to talk to you.” The look you gave him said otherwise. 

“Yeah but can you look at me for more than five minutes?”

The boy pinched the bridge of his nose “what are you playing at?” He looked up at the sky, making you almost laugh.

You felt tired, actually, you felt exhausted “when you got onto that stage with her, you didn’t even look at me.” You weren’t accusing him about anything. 

You knew that Garrett would never cross a line with Hannah. But it was getting hard to make your heart hear it in the same way your brain did.

Garrent let out a harsh sigh, unsure of wht he was having this fight with you again “you know I love you,” if you weren’t paying attention, you would have sworn that he was actually asking you a question. 

Your chest ached as you fiddled with the ring on your finger. It had been one that Garrett gave you for your 20th birthday “but are you in love with me?” Silence followed, and that was the true nail in the coffin.

Of course he did, his brain almost short-circuited at the absurdity of the question, “what’s that supposed to mean?” His hands landed on his hips as he grew defensive.

You sighed as you paused your run time on your watch “look I don’t want to fight tonight.” You announced as you watched the boy scoff. 

The hockey player frowned, “don’t push me away like this.” He pleaded as he shook his head. 

Tears welled in your eyes “I am holding on for dear life Gar,” you had felt like you were barely able to keep your head above water for weeks now and you hated it. 

You hated that you cared so much for someone who felt like they were pushing you away. 

But you hated more that Garrett could check out of the relationship that made you feel like you were in a fairytale. 

That he could stand in front of you like every time he made up an excuse to not see you, wasn’t killing your confidence every time “I need you like you are the best reason that I have each day to smile.” The words pressed into his chest as he couldn’t remember the last time that he made you smile, “but I need you to need me back!” 

Silence loomed over the two of you. 

And that somehow hurt the most. 

Not that you didn’t think that Garrett no longer cared, but that he couldn’t even try to offer an argument to you.

You pressed your hands against the sides of your head “why won’t you just let me all the way in!” The question came as Garrett backed away. 

Throughout the years he always found the perfect excuse to not have you meet his dad. It seemed that everyone in his circle knew his father but you “of course I let you in I love you!” Garrett argued back as you shook your head. 

It was a topic that you knew came with baggage “I know your comfort meals.” You found out after your first fight when Garrett begged Tucker to help him make it for you “I know that your favourite movie to watch is a chick flick.” 

The edges of his mouth curved upward as he smiled “but I don’t know what scares you in this world.” Your voice broke “or why you love hockey.” 

“Or why you’ve met my whole family and your dad doesn’t even know that I exist.”

It cut deep as Garrett always envied how sweet and loving your parents were, they looked at you like you were the best thing since sliced bread. 

Garrett reached for your hand but you pulled away “I am so tired of feeling sad.” You shook your head as tears openly streamed down your face now. 

You sniffled harshly, “god I’d rather feel nothing at all than have to go through one more fucking moment of whatever this is.” Your heart felt lighter as you spoke, getting the thoughts you so desperately needed to let go of out of your mind. 

The boy shoved his hands into his pockets “what am I meant to do about that?” He rolled his eyes, feeling like this was another fight. 

But instead, you merely sighed, “I don’t know anymore, Gar.” You chewed at the inside of your cheek to try to convince your mind that this wasn’t the thing that was hurting.

You used the back of your hand to wipe the snot coming from your nose “y’know, I really thought that in this break we’ve had for the last week that you would come back first.” You actually laughed at that, cursing yourself for how clearly foolish you had been. 

He stayed quiet “that you would come back and tell me that you realised there was no one else you could be with but me,” Garrett watched as you looked away, Hannah had started walking towards the two of you. 

You couldn’t even fault the girl as she sent you a comforting smile, stopping in her tracks when she saw that you had been crying “I wanted you to tell me that you would rather be alone than live one second in this place without me.” Venom laced your words even if you didn’t mean for it to happen. 

Garrett sighed as he raked his fingers through his curls “I never meant to hurt you,” his words should have provided you with some comfort. 

They should have made you realise that this wasn’t your fault “but you did Garrett.” You shrugged as you somehow were left feeling worse. 

You stepped back as he stepped forward, as the cold autumn breeze brushed around campus, it was clear much like how the seasons were changing from fall to winter, that there was an end between the two of you too. 

Still you hoped that Garrett would find a way to fight. 

And still you ended up disappointed “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed,”  Garrett knew that when things were going well he was a part of the reason why you were on cloud nine. 

But when he was gone, he was the reason why you were sad. Even if it was an event for you, his lack of presence would be the thing your brain lingered on. 

Part of you wanted to tell him that he was your dream in human form. 

But that part had been hurt one too many times by him to speak, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t a girl worth loving.” In that moment, your words captured everything that you had been feeling for weeks. 

Garrett watched as you turned around, not bothering to put your AirPod back into your ear as you carried on the rest of your run. 

He clenched his hands as he knew he couldn’t go after you. Yes Garrett loved you, but he wasn’t sure how he was meant to treat you with the value that you deserved.

You were the one who reminded Garrett how to laugh in rooms where he was meant to be quiet. How the worst days could be made better by simply talking to you, because somehow you always knew what to say to put his mind at ease. 

The boy never spoke to Phil about you because you were a light in his world that his dad worked so hard to keep dark. 

So when he watched you leave, Garrett didn’t know what to do, because part of him wanted to run after you. 

But there was a quieter part that knew you deserved the right to leave him and the shitshow that was his world. Because that was what he always assumed would happen anyway, so that was why he never let you in fully. 

Because at least once you left you wouldn’t pity him if you didn’t know his full story “you should go back inside, it’s cold out here.” Hannah’s voice was kind, but Garrett didn’t let his eyes fall from where you ran to. 

“I’m good.”