‘The winner takes it all, the loser has to fall.’

You had spent four months avoiding moments like this. Four months dodging plans, letting group chats pile up with messages you ignored, pretending you were too busy to hang out—because wherever the others were, he was too. And you weren’t ready for that. It drove the group crazy until you agreed, being fed up with you and Walker asking about each other, then not even speaking. Because she was always asking how he was, and the cast, being closer to him —since he introduced her to them, which he regretted now, how they all got so attached to her— always told him what she asked and what she said. And he asked about her too, but not to the girls, to Aryan and Charlie, who would obviously never tell her anything.

Not after the breakup.

Not after that fight—when Walker accused you of never letting him in, when you told him he only cared when it was convenient. When he snapped, “Maybe we just don’t work,” and you, stupidly, had said, “Maybe we don’t.”

Neither of you took it back.

And now? Now, you were here, sitting in some overpriced booth at a burger place, surrounded by your friends, pretending like it didn’t physically hurt to be this close to him again.

It wasn’t working.

Because the second someone shoved the menu in your hands, you turned without thinking, nudging his arm. “What are you getting?” It was a reflex of something you used to know. Something that used to be normal.

And for a second—just a second—Walker looked at you like nothing had changed. Like he was about to lean over and point at something you’d both end up sharing anyway.

But then reality crashed back in. His expression hardened, and he turned away. “Dunno. Why do you care?”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the menu.

You didn’t. Except you did. Because you still knew his order. Still knew he liked his fries extra crispy, still knew he’d steal half of yours anyway.

You still knew him.

And that was the worst part—because he wasn’t yours to know anymore.