“{{user}}!”

He didn’t mean for it to go like this.

You, his childhood best friend, were visiting him in Chicago. Five years had passed since you’d last seen each other. Five years of college, of distance, of lives moving in separate directions. You were supposed to pick up where you left off—laughing, reminiscing, existing in the same space again without feeling like strangers.

And yet here you were, walking away from him.

Over a stupid argument.

Tom felt something twist inside him. It wasn’t just the fight—it was the way you turned so quickly, the way your voice had gone quiet instead of sharp. The way you suddenly had somewhere else to be when just last night you swore the whole day was open for him.

He knew that wasn’t true.

“{{user}}, wait.” His voice was level, but his stomach was in knots.

He caught up before you reached the door leading out to the city sidewalks, his footsteps echoing against the corridor’s tile. His hand reached out, fingers curling around your wrist—not tight, just enough to hold you there, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his.

“{{user}}.” His voice dropped lower, softer, almost uncertain.

For a moment, he just stood there behind you, eyes fixed on the way your hair framed your face. He could feel the rise and fall of your breath, see the way your shoulders tensed.

Tom released your wrist slowly, hesitantly, as if letting go of something more than just your skin.

“Why are you this upset?” His brows furrowed slightly, the usual sharpness in his expression dimmed by something else—something unspoken. His voice, usually so steady, carried something quieter, something unsure.

Maybe he already knew the answer.

You were probably upset how much he had changed over the years. Frustrated at how difficult it is to just have a simple chat. You were expecting them to just click like always.

And maybe it was also Tom’s fault. He didn’t see you like a friend anymore.. it’s like you morphed into some kind of goddess.

He just needed to hear it from you.