#god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

suede wasn’t sure what she expected when theo showed up in sydney. maybe something easier. it had always been easy between them — fluid, familiar. now, it felt like she was talking to someone she used to know, someone who knew her favorite cereal but not where she lived anymore. the tension lived in the space between them. it wasn’t loud. it just pulsed. theo in australia felt wrong, like a memory that got dropped into the wrong city. he didn’t belong on the sunlit sidewalks and palm-lined streets. not in this new chapter of hers. not in the version of her life where everything was curated and clean and nothing ever touched the parts of her that used to ache. still, there he was. taller than she remembered, even though that wasn’t possible. his posture had changed — less careless, more composed. the way his hands sat in his jacket pockets felt unfamiliar. restrained. they hugged like old friends, but not close ones. his hand hovered a second too long at her back and her chin grazed his shoulder, and she thought about how many times she used to fall asleep in that spot. she thought about how she hadn’t called him in months.

they went to dinner. she picked the place — small, tucked behind a florist shop, with candles in jars and mismatched wooden chairs. it smelled like garlic and roses. the air was thick with warmth and memory. suede chose the corner table, furthest from the windows. private. intimate. she told herself it was just quieter there, but she knew better. they made small talk over drinks. she laughed at something he said about the kangaroos. he picked at his food like he wasn’t really hungry. suede told herself it was okay to pretend like they were just catching up. she tried to fill the space with lightness, asked about work, the city, stupid things that meant nothing. but it didn’t feel like it used to. the rhythm was off. like a song they both knew but couldn’t find the beat to anymore. but then he asked how much longer she was staying, joked if she was ever coming back to america. she said it halfway through the meal, just dropped it between sips of wine like a stone into water: i’m engaged now.

no longer just a girlfriend. soon to be a wife. the shift was immediate. not loud. not dramatic. just.. quieter. the way he stopped chewing. the way his gaze dropped to his plate. he didn’t ask questions. didn’t offer congratulations. just nodded, once. she could feel her own heartbeat in her wrists. her voice was steadier than she felt. she told him it felt right. that it was good. that preston was kind. stable. and god, her mother adored him. the whole time she spoke, she didn’t meet theo’s eyes. “i’m married,” she had said too quickly. like that made it more true. he looked at her then — really looked — and she hated the way it made her feel. “not yet.” he kept looking at her, smiling. the silence wrapped around them like a blanket they both refused to take off. all the things they never said, all the nights that bled into mornings, all the half-dressed arguments and sleepy laughter — it lived in that look. and god, she missed it. “what?” she asked, already knowing the answer. he shrugged. “just memories.” she tried to smile through it, kept twisting her napkin in her lap like it might ground her. her fingers were shaking, but only a little. only enough for her to notice. she couldn’t tell if the ache in her chest was guilt or longing. they didn’t talk much after that. didn’t need to. they paid the bill. walked back in silence. everything was louder inside the quiet.

the elevator ride back to her building was short, but it stretched like molasses. they stood side by side. he stood close. too close. but not close enough. she could feel the heat of him. his shoulder not quite touching hers, but close enough that it made her skin prickle. the scent of his cologne hit her like a wave — familiar, devastating. sandalwood and something sharper. she used to wear his sweaters just to keep that scent with her. she hadn’t realized how much she missed him until right now. her arms were crossed, but she didn’t feel protected. the numbers above the door lit up one by one, slow and taunting. she turned her head to look at him, and the second she did, she knew. his eyes were already on her. not in the casual way. not in the way people look when they’re waiting for the elevator to move. no, he was looking at her like she was a photograph he hadn’t seen in years. like she still meant something. her breath caught, and it felt so stupid. how many years had passed? how many nights had she pressed her forehead to a cold pillow and told herself it didn’t matter? “this is stupid,” she said, barely a whisper. he didn’t say anything. just kept looking. that look — like he was remembering the curve of her hips under his hands. the way she used to say his name when she was half-asleep. the way her lips tasted after mint tea.