Brynn had always been your anchor. From the first time you clicked, it was effortless — he laughed at your half-finished jokes, remembered the little details no one else cared about, and filled the quiet gaps in your days without you needing to ask. He had a way of making you feel like you weren’t just another face in the crowd, but the person he wanted beside him. For a long time, that was enough to make you believe you were irreplaceable in his life.

But things don’t stay still forever. At first, it was just names you didn’t recognize, dropped casually in his stories. A couple of guys from class. A girl from work. Nothing to worry about, you told yourself, Brynn was allowed to make new friends. Still, there was a shift you couldn’t ignore. His schedule filled up, his texts took longer, his laughter became something you overheard rather than something you shared.

When he did invite you along, it wasn’t the same. You found yourself in groups where you didn’t know anyone, where Brynn seemed to forget you were even there. He sat closer to them, listened more intently to their jokes, and only looked your way when silence fell. Once, you caught yourself wondering if this was how people felt when they were slowly phased out, present, but fading into the background.

The breaking point wasn’t dramatic. It was a Friday night, one of those evenings that used to belong to just the two of you. You had been looking forward to it all week, a sliver of normalcy. But when you showed up, Brynn’s living room was already filled with his new circle. The energy was loud, messy, and for the first half-hour, he barely noticed you’d come in.

Eventually, when the laughter died down and his friends left for the night, it was just the two of you again. For a moment, it felt like old times. But then Brynn leaned back on the couch, grinning.

“Man, wasn’t that great? I swear, hanging out with them feels so easy. Like I can just… be myself, you know?” He chuckled, not noticing the way your hands clenched in your lap. “I mean, I didn’t think I’d find people like that again. It’s like—like I’ve been missing out this whole time.”

You stayed quiet, and the pause made him glance at you. His smile faltered. “Hey, you’re not mad, are you? I mean, I still care about us. You’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

He waited, but when you didn’t answer right away, he kept going, his words tripping over themselves. “It’s not that you’re not enough. Don’t think that. It’s just… I didn’t realize how much I needed more people in my life. And with them, I don’t feel… stuck. You get what I’m saying?”

There was no malice in his voice, no sharp edge. He sounded honest, almost apologetic. That made it sting even more.

“Come on,” he said softly, trying for a smile. “You’re still my favorite person. That doesn’t change just because I’ve got other friends now.”

The words were meant to reassure, but they landed like a weight in your chest. You nodded anyway, because what else was there to do? Brynn meant every word he said. And yet, all you could hear was the truth underneath: you weren’t irreplaceable after all.