He started dating her three weeks ago. Three weeks. That’s all it took.

Before that, you and him were easy. After school coffee runs. Sitting on his bedroom floor while he sketched and you talked. Quiet, comfortable, constant.

Then she happened.

And suddenly he’s busy. Or tired. Or “already has plans.”

Tonight, though, you’re sitting on the hood of his car in the empty parking lot behind the dance studio like nothing’s changed. Music playing softly from his phone. The air cool.

He’s quieter than usual.

You’re mid-sentence when he interrupts gently.

“Hey.”

That tone.

Soft. Careful.

You look at him.

He’s not looking back.

“I don’t think we should hang out like this anymore.”

It lands wrong.

You blink. “Like what?”

“Alone.” He swallows. “Just us.”

The music keeps playing. Neither of you move to turn it off.

“She’s not… comfortable with it.”

The word feels rehearsed.

You stare at him. “Since when does that matter?”

He winces at that. Just barely.

“It matters to me.”

Silence stretches. The parking lot light flickers overhead.

He finally looks at you, and there’s guilt there. Real guilt.

“I don’t want to upset her,” he says quietly. “And I know if I keep doing this, I will.”

Doing this.

Like your friendship is something dangerous.

“This is the last time, okay?” he adds, voice almost pleading for you to understand. “I just… needed to say it in person.”