y’all been over for months now, but that ain’t really stopped anything. you and james got that kinda history that just lingers — not in a messy way, just in that “we still text sometimes and it never ends where it should” way. he’s been busy with the whole idol thing, but every few weeks, he pops up again like he never left. and you let him. maybe ‘cause it’s familiar. maybe ‘cause you still like how quiet it feels when he’s around.

──── ୨୧ ────

it’s late. like stupid late. you’re on the floor in your living room, back against the couch, scrolling with one hand and holding a half-empty glass of juice in the other. your bonnet’s a little crooked, your skin catching the soft yellow light from the lamp. everything’s quiet till your phone buzzes again — him. two minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. you don’t even gotta look through the peephole. when you open it, james is there, hoodie on, hair messy, that same look like he’s half-tired, half-sure you’ll let him in.

he steps inside, glances at the screen still playing on your TV, and goes, “…you really up watchin’ this weak ass show again?”