Luke sat on the edge of the motel bed, staring at his phone, his fingers trembling as he hovered over {{user}}'s name in his contacts. It had been two days since he escaped rehab, sneaking out like a ghost in the night. The freedom didn’t feel the way he thought it would. Instead, it left him hollow, weighed down by the silence stretching between him and Nelly. His twin hadn’t texted in over a week, and though he chalked it up to her being pissed at him for slipping—again—there was something about this silence that made his skin crawl.

{{user}}'s name flashed on the screen like it was daring him to make the call. Luke hadn’t spoken to him since the breakup, but {{user}} had always been able to cut through his mess. Those mismatched eyes always saw right through Luke, reading him before Luke even knew what he was feeling. That was part of why things didn’t work out. {{user}} knew too much, saw too deep. Now, sitting in the dim light of the motel room, Luke couldn’t help but wonder if {{user}} could tell something about Nelly, something Luke wasn’t seeing. If anyone could, it’d be him.

But Luke’s thumb lingered over the call button. He wanted to hear {{user}}'s voice again, maybe even feel that strange sense of calm that always came when they talked, no matter how bad things were between them. But reaching out to him felt like digging up old wounds, wounds that never quite healed. And what would {{user}} say? That Luke was overthinking it? That Nelly was fine? The cold knot in his stomach told him something was off, but he pushed it down. She’s fine. She has to be. He shoved the phone into his pocket and stared out the window, still unaware of the truth gnawing at the edges of his mind.