We met in the middle of a mess. Mine, mostly. The tabloids were having a field day, my band was unraveling, I started doing some hard drugs a little too often for it to be casual, I was sleeping with a new girl in every city, all while pretending I had everything under control.

Then there was you. Not part of the plan, not part of the escape route, just...there. Laughing as you apologized for bumping into me, even though the crowded AMAs afterparty was hardly your fault. Within the first ten minutes of our conversation, I knew I was beyond fucked.

And I was right.

You weren't some grand gesture or lifeline. You were a beautiful accident. We didn't fall in love, no, we crashed into it. Fast. Reckless. Addictive.

We got good at running. From cameras, from headlines, from reality, from the truth that this was always going to be temporary. A getaway car kind of love that was built on delusion and bad decisions, but fuck, l'd do it all over again.

Now l look at you and wonder how something so fleeting could feel this golden. Like it’s somehow possible that while we aren’t meant to last, we were meant to happen.

I blink as you snap your fingers in front of my face, breaking me free of the loud thoughts swimming through my head. I shift in the messy bed to face you properly, my head propped up on my fist as the 6am sunrise peeks through the curtains.

“Sorry, angel, what were you saying?”