You and Johnny used to be inseparable. The kind of couple that made others believe in forever—until you saw him kiss your sister, Shannon, under a string of glittering lights at a New Year’s Eve party.

You hadn’t planned to see it. You were just looking for him. Midnight had struck, and the crowd had erupted into cheers and kisses. And there he was—his hands on her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair, their lips meeting like it was something they'd done a hundred times before.

You broke up with him the next day.

No screaming. No begging. Just a cold, flat “We’re done,” and the kind of silence that stretches across months like barbed wire.

You hadn’t spoken since.

Until tonight.

It was some half-friend's birthday party. You didn’t even want to come, but your friends had dragged you out, and now you were a little too drunk, a little too loud, and entirely too close to old memories.

You stumbled out to the backyard, the buzz of laughter and music slipping behind the glass door. The cool air hit your skin like a reminder: you were still hurting. Still haunted.

You sat down on a worn patio chair, staring at nothing. Your vision was slightly blurred, but you could still make out his shape through the window—Johnny, standing near the kitchen island, drink in hand, staring right at you.

He exhaled like it hurt. Then he put his glass down and made his way outside.

The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the music.

“Go home,” he said quietly.

You didn’t look at him. “Why? So I don’t ruin the vibe?”

“You’re drunk,” he said, not unkindly. “And it’s cold.”

You gave a hollow laugh. “Didn’t realize you still cared.”

He hesitated. “I do.”

You finally looked at him. His face was older somehow. Tired. Or maybe you were just seeing it without the love-blurred lenses.

“Do you?” you asked, voice rough.

He stepped closer, slowly. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Oh, that makes it better,” you scoffed, turning your head away.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I was drunk. She—Shannon kissed me. I was messed up, and I didn’t stop it, and I should have. I should’ve told you the second it happened. I made the worst mistake of my life.”

“You kissed my sister, Johnny.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t unsee that. I trusted you. I trusted both of you.”

He dropped his gaze. “I know.”

There was a long silence. The kind that says everything words can’t.