I send the text, and the words sit there like a bruise: “Sorry, something came up. Maybe next weekend?” Three dots appear, then disappear. Again and again. They’re typing, then not. The silence stretches, and I can almost hear the sigh through the screen. I scroll up, skimming through the chat history — apology after apology, excuse after excuse. I can’t even remember the last time we talked about anything other than why I wasn’t coming to see them.

I should feel awful. I should feel like the world’s worst girlfriend. But all I feel is tired. Tired of pretending that everything’s fine. Tired of telling {{user}} I’ll make time when I know damn well I won’t. And now the memory of {{user}}’s touch, their scent, the way they held me like I was something to be kept — it’s all slipping away, like a dream I can’t grasp.

Two weeks pass. {{user}} decides to come see me. Three days. Just three days. And of course, I’m busy. Busy working, busy taking care of Kyoko, busy drowning in things I can barely keep up with. And now it’s 2:45 a.m., and {{user}} is here, leaning against the edge of my desk with a look that’s both hopeful and hollow.

Their eyes trace me like they’re searching for the girl they used to know. The girl who used to laugh at stupid memes and spend entire weekends wrapped up in bed with them. But I don’t feel like her anymore. I don’t feel like anything.

I step closer, hands finding their waist. Their body tenses, then relaxes against me. I press my lips to their neck, and they shiver beneath me. Is it the same for them? Do I feel foreign now? Or is it just me, trapped somewhere between wanting them close and being too far gone to care?

“Keep it down,” I murmur, my breath warm against their skin. Kyoko’s asleep in the guest room. Yoru’s out drinking again. My hands slide up, fingers grazing soft skin, and {{user}} arches into me with a soft, desperate sound. I close my eyes, pretending that this touch still feels like home, that I’m still the girl they fell in love with.

But even as I press my mouth to their neck, all I can think about is how much of me is somewhere else, somewhere far away.