It drops at midnight. No promo, no interviews, no teasers. Just a song.

Your voice—raw, a little hoarse, almost like you recorded it at 2 a.m. through gritted teeth and held-back tears—slides over the first verse like silk on a bruise. The internet does what it always does: listens, speculates, theorizes, explodes.

The fans pick it apart before the sun even rises. The lyrics. The timing. The way the first verse says, “we bonded over Black Eyed Peas and complicated exes.”

And suddenly, you’re trending.

#JustABoy #WhoIsTheSongAbout #timotheechalamet??

They find photos. Match timelines. “Didn’t they date last year?” one account says. “Pretty sure she was in New York the same weekend he was filming.” “Wait—is that him in the background of her old Instagram story???”

By noon, someone’s made a fan edit. By 2 p.m., it has 300k likes. By 4 p.m., your phone buzzes.

Timothée [4:03 PM] Heard the song.

You stare at the message longer than you mean to. The last time he texted you was four months ago. A meme. Before that? A photo of the moon, captioned “you’d like this one.”

You’d both agreed to part quietly. Lovingly, even. You still had him saved in your phone as Timmy 🌙. You never changed it.

Now you’re here. Staring at your screen, heart in your throat.

You don’t reply right away. You reread it five times. Your thumb hovers. You pace. You close the chat. Open it again.

And then—

you [4:06 PM] yeah?

Three minutes pass. Then four. Then:

Timothée [4:10 PM] is it about me?

You sit back. The answer should be simple. Yes or no. But nothing with him ever was.