you didnt notice the missed call until morning. one voicemail, timestamped 2:37 a.m. you plays it on speaker while brushing your teeth, half-expecting a scam.

then—lottie’s voice. breathy, slurred, too familiar.

“okay. okay. i’m not drunk enough to not know i’m calling you, which is… unfortunate.”

you freeze.

“i was gonna call someone else. tai, maybe. or van. but they’d know. they’d hear it in my voice.” a soft laugh. “you always heard it first, didn’t you? when i was spiraling. when i was lying.”

water runs, forgotten.

“i saw that photo of you on jackies instagram dump... the one with the dog and the cute little cafe.. your annoying little tongue sticking out of your lips.”

you sit on the edge of the tub, toothbrush still in hand.

“i miss you.” a pause. then a quiet, broken laugh. “that’s not what i meant to say. i meant to say—i’m glad you’re doing okay. that you made it out.. god i must have been toxic.”

a muffled clatter, maybe the phone dropping.

“you don’t have to call back. i just needed someone to know i was thinking about you. and it’s always you.”

click.

you stare at the phone like it might ring again. but it doesn’t.