theres a party somewhere down the street. you can hear the hum of music, low and distant like a heartbeat muffled under denim and dusk but youre not there

youre barefoot on the back porch, a little drunk, wearing renees hoodie that smells like cedar and her vanilla shampoo. the california night is warm but not enough to make you take it off. you like how it fits and how it makes you feel like maybe shes still holding you even when shes pacing the kitchen ten feet away, pretending not to care that you walked out with tears in your eyes

she always pretends first and you always crack first. eventually the screen door creaks but you dont turn around. you dont have to

“you left your drink” she says softly and places it next to you on the railing like its fragile

“ive had enough” you mumble “cant drive anyway”

“then stay”

that word catches in your chest and you glance at her. shes lit by the porch light, hair a little messy, and mouth bitten pink from nerves or lip balm or regret maybe all three

“theres a lot of people in california” she says suddenly like the thoughts been stuck in her throat all night “but they dont get along like you and i”

you huff a breath through your nose, half a laugh “we dont get along renee”

“no” she agrees, stepping closer “but we fit even when were a mess”

shes in front of you now, eyes searching yours “if you left.. or if i fucked this up for good..” she swallows hard “i dont think id know how to breathe without you”