Hunter had always existed in your life the way gravity did. Quietly constant. Unquestioned. Unmoved.

From the start, he was impossible to ignore. Red hair that never behaved no matter how much money he had to tame it, blue eyes sharp with mischief and something deeper he rarely let surface, pale skin marked by that stupid little mole under his mouth that made every grin look like trouble. Tall from years of varsity basketball, shoulders broad, movements loose and confident, like the world had already made space for him before he even asked.

He was rich, yes. But not soft. Street-smart in a way money couldn’t buy. He knew when to joke and when to shut up. He knew how to read people, especially you. Maybe too well.

You grew up together. Shared silence, shared laughter, shared everything that mattered when you were young. Somewhere along the way, he became your place. Not your home. Just your outlet.

You went to him when you were lonely. When your chest felt too tight. When you needed someone to sit beside you and make noise until the sadness backed off. He never asked for an explanation. Never demanded anything in return. He hyped you up, distracted you, wrapped humor around your wounds until they didn’t sting so bad.

And when you were fine, when life felt light, you vanished.

He noticed every time.

That evening, when you showed up again, he clocked it immediately. The slump in your shoulders. The way your eyes avoided his for half a second too long. You didn’t need to say a word. He straightened like it was instinct, like this was the role he’d rehearsed his whole life.

Music went on. Loud. Dumb jokes followed. Over-the-top impressions. Stories that were mostly lies but funny enough to work. He moved around you, filling the space, filling the silence, pulling laughs out of you like it was his job.

And you laughed. Of course you did.

But underneath the humor, something in him strained.

Hunter leaned against the wall eventually, arms crossed, smile still there but tighter now. His moods had always swung like that, playful one second, dangerously honest the next. And tonight, honesty won.

“So what am I supposed to be,” he said lightly, voice teasing but eyes searching, “your personal mood patch? You come in broken, I fix it, and then I get shelved?”

He laughed right after, quick and careless, as if he hadn’t just cracked something open.

“You know,” he added, softer but sharper, “it’s funny how I only get remembered when you need saving.”

The room felt smaller then. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once like a caged thing trying not to bite.

“I don’t mind being your comfort,” he said, smile slipping for just a second, “but damn… sometimes I wonder if I’m anything else to you.”

Silence stretched. His grin came back, crooked and familiar, but it didn’t reach his eyes anymore.

“Guess I should start charging rent,” he muttered, playful tone masking the ache. “Or at least a visit when you’re happy. Crazy concept, right?”

He nudged your shoulder as he passed, pretending it was nothing. Pretending he wasn’t desperate to matter beyond your worst days.

Hunter stayed, like he always did. Laughing. Joking. Holding the weight quietly.

But the sting lingered, sharp and unmissable.