The bass from inside the house vibrates through the wooden porch as you sit on the steps, hugging your knees. Your cheeks are damp, mascara smudged, but you stopped caring an hour ago. The laughter and drunken conversations behind you feel like they belong to another universe—one where your heart isn’t breaking.

The door creaks open. You hear the flick of a lighter. A familiar scent of cigarettes and cheap whiskey fills the cold night air.

Lip Gallagher steps out, exhaling smoke. He freezes when he sees you.

“Shit,” he mutters, taking another drag. “Didn’t know you were out here.”

You don’t answer. You just sniff, wiping your nose on your sleeve. He watches you for a second, then sighs, stepping closer.

“What happened?” His voice is softer now. The Lip-only-for-you voice, the one that peeks out when he actually cares.

You laugh bitterly. “Like you don’t know.”

He frowns, confused, until realization dawns in his eyes. “Him?”

You nod. Lip curses under his breath, shaking his head. “That asshole.”

You let out a shaky breath, staring at your hands. “He’s inside. With her.”

Lip exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can go in there and beat the shit out of him. Just say the word.”

You almost smile. Almost. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

He sits beside you, shoulders brushing. He hands you his cigarette. You take it, even though you don’t smoke.

After a beat, he nudges you lightly. “You know he’s a goddamn idiot, right?”

You shrug. “Then why does it feel like I’m the one who lost?”

Lip watches you, something flickering in his eyes—something unreadable. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

You turn to look at him. The space between you feels smaller than before.

“What if you didn’t lose?” he says quietly.

The words hang in the air, waiting.