Dimitri lay in bed, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. His chest felt heavy, each photo he paused on a reminder of what once was. His thumb lingered over the pictures of his ex, each one an ache that seemed to tug at the corners of his heart. He sniffled, biting back the tears he had been holding in for hours now. The room was silent except for the occasional soft sound of his breath catching.

It had been two days since he’d barely left this bed. The half-empty plate from yesterday’s attempt at dinner still sat untouched on the nightstand. Dimitri sighed deeply, his eyes stinging with exhaustion and sadness. He knew he couldn't keep doing this—this slow descent into heartache that consumed every waking hour. He turned off his phone with a soft click, forcing himself to stop looking, to stop torturing himself. But the silence was unbearable.

His gaze shifted to the door. You were just next door, his bestfriend, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the storm that had settled in his heart. He didn’t want to wake you—didn’t want to weigh you down with the grief he carried like a shadow. But in the quiet of the night, the loneliness felt louder than ever.

His hand hesitated over the screen before he typed out the message. "Are you awake?" He wasn’t sure why he texted you. Maybe it was just the need for something, anything, that wasn’t a memory of her. To his surprise you responded.

For a moment, he stared at your words, his chest tightening. It was 3 a.m. He inhaled shakily, fingers trembling as he typed his next message.

"Can you come into my room, please?"

His heart raced as he hit send. There was a small, aching part of him that feared you might not understand, that you might think him weak for this. He set his phone down, resisting the urge to dive back into the photos again—resisting the pull of the past, though it felt like a part of him still lived there.