The Bristol winter felt like a sentence. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, surrounded by the grey haze of a cigarette pack that no longer existed, feeling the hollow ache of a stomach that refused to accept food. Everything was going wrong, but nothing hurt quite as much as Freddie’s kindness.

He spoke to you out of inertia, out of that cursed habit people have when they don't know how to leave for good. And you had to pretend. You had to grit your teeth and act as if it didn't tear your soul apart the way he pretended there was nothing "weird" between you two. He treated you with a flat cordiality, as if the nights of shared secrets and skin had been a fever dream he’d already woken up from, leaving you trapped in the delirium.

The phone pressed against your ear was getting warm.

"Yeah, no, I get it" you muttered. "I just thought I’d check in. It’s almost Christmas, anyway."

"Right. Glad you did" Freddie’s voice came through, sounding distant, distracted. You could almost hear the rustle of sheets in the background. "It’s good to hear from you. We’re still cool, right?"

"Of course" you lied, your throat tightening. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"Cool. Look, I should probably get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah" you whispered. "I have to hang up anyway. She’s right there, isn't she?"

There was a pause. A silence so heavy it felt like it could break the line.

"Go to sleep" he said softly. "Night."

Click.

You knew exactly where he was during those long silences. You knew Effy was there, likely occupying the very physical space you had guarded so fiercely. It was unbearable to imagine them sleeping together now, entangled under the sheets, repeating the same choreography that once belonged to you.

You remembered with cruel vividness every time you lit a cigarette for him, the flame illuminating his tired face; every time he, with a tenderness that now felt like a betrayal, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear while you lay in silence. In those moments, you felt safe.

But reality hit you with the force of a shipwreck, you had turned into her just so the version she no longer was —or the one he missed— could live with you for a while longer. You had kept her place intact, you had warmed her side of the bed, only for her to return and reclaim it all without even asking.