The New Year’s party was loud. The air was humid, thick with sweat and beer. Your shoes stuck to the floor from spilled drinks, and you couldn’t find your friends.

You needed to get out, find them, and—hopefully—not run into her. Or anyone you knew.

Finally spotting the stairs, you saw Allison at the bottom.

“Hey, Al, you know where Ari is? She has my purse, and my phone’s in it.” You tugged your dress down, as if that would deter the men staring at every sliver of skin.

She mumbled something about the kitchen, and you thanked her before heading that way.

You found Ariana easily—but she was talking to her. Why the hell was she talking to her?

No. No, no, no.

You turned to leave, praying you wouldn’t be seen. But, of course, God was feeling cruel tonight.

“Y/N!” Ariana yelled, pushing your purse into your chest. You clutched it tightly, forcing yourself to focus on her and not the blonde beside her. Ariana was friends with both of you, but after the breakup, she stuck by you more.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t know what to do with it—if I left it on the counter, someone could steal it, but if I kept it, I’d have this—”

She was cut off.

By her.

Megan stepped forward with a small smile.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossing. The last thing you wanted was this conversation. She broke up with you. Not the other way around.

“Hey,” she said, voice cracking. Her lips looked dry, coated in that strawberry lip gloss you knew too well.

Memories hit you like a punch—her lending you her perfume before tours because she knew you’d miss her scent, the late night facetimes . three years. Gone.

You didn’t want to miss her.

You missed her.

You didn’t want to admit it.

But you did.