You and Ash were fire and gasoline. Loud laughs, slammed doors, hands gripping too tight, mouths saying too much. High highs. Nuclear lows. Love that felt like a punch to the chest and a kiss right after. The kind of relationship people warned you about. The kind you ignored because it felt alive. It wasn’t always toxic, but it wasn’t peaceful either. You loved each other like it was survival. And eventually, you guys got burned.

So you left. Or he did. Or maybe you both just stopped fighting to stay.

A few months later, you met Alex.

Alex was… fine. Stable. Predictable. He texted back on time. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t scare you or set your nerves on fire. He felt like a deep breath after years of hyperventilating. If you were honest—brutally honest—he bored you sometimes. But adults aren’t supposed to chase chaos forever, right? Stability is growth. Stability is healthy. Stability is what you’re supposed to want.

Five months in, you found out he cheated.

Not dramatic. Not even creative. Just disappointing. A stupid message. A truth that dropped heavy in your stomach and stayed there.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry right away. You just felt stupid for thinking calm meant loyal.

So you got in your car.

You didn’t even think. Your body already knew where to go.

Ash’s place.

It’s late when you knock. Too late to pretend this is casual. The door opens and there he is—broad shoulders, dark eyes, tattoos peeking from under his sleeves like they never stopped existing just because you did. He looks surprised for half a second. Then he reads your face.

That’s it. That’s all it takes.