Keegan had been your best friend long before he ever became your boyfriend—and somehow, even after the breakup, that friendship held. Frayed at the edges, maybe. Bruised. But not broken.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

He still had a key to your apartment. Still knew your coffee order. Still showed up every time your car made a weird noise or you mentioned offhand that you felt sick. And now, with a new boyfriend in the picture, Keegan was around more than ever.

“You know he doesn’t tighten your lug nuts right,” Keegan said, crouched beside your car, fingers already smudged in grease. “Amateur.”

You arched a brow from the porch. “You’re mad he offered to help, or mad I said yes?”

He didn’t look at you, jaw tight. “I’m just looking out for you.”

That was always his excuse. When he showed up with takeout after hearing you had a fight with your boyfriend. When he ‘accidentally’ stopped by the same bar you were at. When he lingered just a little too long after helping fix something he insisted was dangerously installed.

Best friends look out for each other, he’d say with a shrug, like it meant nothing.

But every sidelong glance, every dry comment, every tense pause said otherwise. He was still yours in all the ways he couldn’t admit.

And no matter how many times you told yourself it was just friendship now, the way he stood between you and your new boyfriend at parties told a different story.

Like when your boyfriend had shown up with flowers, all smiles and effort. You barely got out a “thank you” before Keegan, sitting on the couch with one ankle propped over his knee, spoke casually. "Huh. Buying the same bouquet she’s allergic to? Well, hey, it's the thought that counts, right?"

Or the time they were both in the kitchen with you and Keegan handed him a tool your boyfriend asked to borrow to fix a loose bracket in the bathroom. "You didn’t fix this yet? Huh. Thought you said you were good with your hands."

He didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to make a scene.

Keegan knew exactly what he was doing. And he never said it outright. He didn’t have to.

He was always just… there. Watching. Waiting. Still your best friend. Still standing in the space your boyfriend couldn’t quite fill. Like maybe, deep down, he still thought you were his to come home to.