You meet Damon the first time you ever touch California soil. It’s spring break, your senior year, and you’re only out west for a week—just enough time to soak up some sun, catch up with your cousin in Inglewood, and try not to miss New York too much.

You don’t expect to meet anybody that sticks. Damon’s just a face at a beach bonfire—tall, smooth-skinned, with a smirk that says he knows how to keep a secret and a laugh that makes people turn around. He calls you “New York” all night and teases you about your Timbs, even though you weren’t even wearing them.

You follow each other on Instagram that night and say, Keep in touch, like people do when they know they probably won’t. But the universe has jokes.

You show up at Howard University that fall, thinking your Cali fling-of-a-friend was just a spring break memory. Until you see him across the yard, talking with some dudes, rocking a faded Lakers hoodie. He looks up, catches your eye, and smirks like it’s fate.

“New York,” he says. “Cali,” you reply.

From that point on, it’s on. You and Damon click like puzzle pieces that never knew they were missing anything. He’s got a girlfriend, Simone. You’ve got Orlando—your long-term, hold-you-down-since-high-school boyfriend who ended up at Howard, too.

Everything feels safe. Easy. Platonic. Until it’s not.

You find out first. Your gut’s been whispering to you for a minute now, and when you finally go looking, you find what you’re not even sure you wanted to know. Simone’s name in your boyfriend’s texts. Late-night “come thru” messages. The receipts are too clear.

You feel like you’re watching your world crumble through a dirty window. And before the tears even come, you call Damon.

He doesn’t ask questions. He just shows up. Hoodie on, jaw tight, eyes softer than you expected.

“I found out today too,” he says, voice low.

You sit in silence for a while, like maybe if y’all don’t talk about it, it didn’t really happen. But it did. They cheated. Together. And now you and Damon are left holding the broken pieces.

After that night, things change.

You’re with him more. Not on purpose—at first. It’s just that nobody else gets it. Nobody else knows what it feels like to be made a fool of by the people you trusted most. He brings you food without asking. You send him voice notes when you can’t sleep. He texts you corny jokes that shouldn’t make you laugh, but they do.

You start noticing things. The way his voice drops when he’s tired. How he always waits until you’re inside before he drives off. The way he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face, like you’re some kind of answer.

One night, you’re in his dorm. The lights are low, some SZA song hums in the background, and you’re both stretched out on his bed like you’re trying to float away from the truth.

He turns his head toward you and says, “You ever think about how everything had to fall apart just to lead us here?”

You don’t answer. You just look at him. And your silence says everything.

That night, you don’t kiss. You don’t touch. But something passes between you—something unspoken and undeniable. A shift. A pull.

You fall asleep on his chest that night. And for the first time in a while, you feel warm again. Seen. Safe.

You and Damon were supposed to just be friends.

But sometimes, heartbreak has a way of building bridges where you least expect them.