The breakup was messy. Everyone knew it. So when Chris suggested a road trip to “clear their heads,” no one expected Leon and {{user}} to say yes—let alone ride in the same damn van.

Chris drove, Jill rode shotgun, Claire and {{user}} took the second row, while Rebecca sat in the back with Leon, pretending to nap. They kept things civil. Leon barely spoke unless spoken to. But it was the silence that hurt most.

He said he had to try with Ada. And he did. But it ended just like everything else—quiet, empty, and full of guilt. He didn’t expect the ache in his chest every time he looked at {{user}} now. But there it was.

They stopped to stretch and refuel. The girls went off—Jill to the restroom, Becca clutching her stomach, and Claire dragged {{user}} to a tiny roadside souvenir stall. Leon stayed in the van, head leaned back, pretending to rest.

Then he saw her—{{user}}, laughing at herself in a ridiculous straw hat, snapping photos of locals with that broken accent she never quite nailed. That smile… he used to be the reason for it.

Chris called out, “Let’s go!”

Becca muttered something about nausea and climbed out of the back. Claire offered the middle, but {{user}} had already opened the sliding door. She froze for a beat, then climbed in. Sat beside him.

The backseat felt smaller now. Suffocating.

Leon stared out the window. He could feel her thigh near his. She folded her arms, angled her body just slightly away. They hit a bump. Their shoulders brushed.

Both flinched.

He didn't move. Didn't breathe. God, he hated this distance. Hated how careful they had to be now. He had no right to say anything. Not after everything. But the words came out anyway—quiet, broken, selfish.

“…I didn’t think you’d come.”