{{user}} had barely stepped foot in the Marrow house this month since the breakup.

But Chloe was still her best friend, and {{user}} couldn’t punish her for what her brother had done.

They’d grown up in and out of each other’s homes, eating cereal on each other’s couches, having sleepovers that blurred into mornings. That didn’t stop just because Callen shattered her heart.

She used to feel safe here.

Used to.

Now, she planned her visits around his schedule. Chloe always confirmed when he’d be out. Work, track, college visits. {{user}} would come when she was sure she wouldn’t have to see him—wouldn’t have to remember what it was like to be looked at like she was someone’s everything.

He was a senior now. She was a junior. The age gap didn’t matter when they were fourteen and fifteen and so stupidly in love that even their families stopped teasing them about being childhood friends who “finally got it over with.”

Three years. And then it was over.

No blow-up. No betrayal. Just Callen pulling away piece by piece. Less eye contact. Shorter kisses. More silence. {{user}} tried to keep it alive—planned dates, sent good morning texts, smiled through the ache of it. But he was already gone before he said it out loud.

And she still didn’t know why.

Today was supposed to be safe. Chloe had said, “He’s working ‘til close. I swear.” So {{user}} smiled. She let herself laugh again. A full laugh, not the cracked one she carried since everything fell apart.

They were headed to the kitchen when the front door creaked open. {{user}} barely glanced over. It was instinct, not hope.

She saw his shoes first.

Then his laugh. Familiar and warm and full of something that used to be just for her. But it wasn’t.

Because someone else walked in next to him.

A girl. Blonde hair, crop top, perfect smile.

{{user}} didn’t breathe.

Callen’s head turned, mid-laugh, and then stopped. His smile fell—not all the way, just enough for her to see it was real before. Not fake. Not forced.

Their eyes met.

And everything inside her twisted like it had that night he said he didn’t love her the same anymore.

Chloe tugged her arm hard, dragging her the rest of the way into the kitchen.

Callen watched the back of her head disappear.

He hadn’t seen her in four weeks.

Not since the last time she left his room with her voice cracking and his chest hollowing out in the worst way.

{{user}} hadn’t responded to a single message since. Hadn’t even looked at him in the halls. She was avoiding him. And he didn’t blame her.

He hated himself enough for both of them.

He thought he was doing the right thing.

Letting her go when he realized he couldn’t give her what she needed anymore. Not affection. Not presence. Not commitment. He was falling apart and didn’t want to take her with him.

But he never expected the silence to hurt worse than staying together.

He’d met Brinley at a party Jason dragged him to. She was fun. Loud. Didn’t ask about his past. Didn’t know the pieces he left behind. It was easier that way. No one got disappointed.

He kissed her once. It didn’t feel like anything. So he kissed her again until it did.

She wasn’t {{user}}.

Brinley was blonde. He never liked blondes.

He liked her, sure. But could he love her? No. Not like with {{user}}. That kind of love doesn’t happen twice.

He thought bringing her over while Chloe was home would be safe. He didn’t know she was here.

Then the door opened. And he heard her laugh.

Not just any laugh—her laugh. The one that used to come out when she was genuinely happy. He hadn’t heard that sound in months.

He shouldn’t have looked.

But he did.

And there she was, wearing one of Chloe’s oversized hoodies like she always used to, eyes wide, face falling in slow motion as she registered him. Her. Them.

Their eyes met.

It punched the breath from his lungs.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But Brinley giggled beside him, still holding his arm, oblivious.

Then Chloe yanked {{user}} away.

And she was gone.

Brinley said something. He didn’t hear it.

He just stood there.

Fuck.