ᯓ★ Being the girlfriend of Drew Starkey became a lot harder the day he stopped answering.

Not for a day. Not for a weekend. A month. An entire month.

⋆˙⟡ —

At first, you told yourself he was busy.

Filming schedules, press tours, time zones, a million reasonable explanations.

So you sent texts. “Call me when you can.”

Then—“Hey, is everything okay?”

Then—“Drew?”

Nothing, no calls, no texts, no explanation. Meanwhile the internet had plenty of updates.

Every single day.

⋆˙⟡ —

Pictures of him and his co-star in Italy, pictures of them on a yacht, pictures of them holding hands, pictures of them laughing.

Pictures of them kissing. Actual kissing. Not blurry photos. Not rumors. Not speculation. Kissing.

Every entertainment account posted them, every magazine reposted them, every comment section called them Hollywood’s newest power couple.

And every night—you sat in your apartment staring at your phone.

Waiting for the boyfriend who couldn’t find thirty seconds to call his girlfriend.

The worst part? You still didn’t know what was happening.

Had he broken up with you? Forgotten you? Replaced you?

You genuinely didn’t know.

Because he never bothered telling you.

⋆˙⟡ —

After three weeks, you stopped texting.

Your pride finally won.

Barely.

Then exactly one month later—the apartment door unlocked.

You froze.

The television still playing quietly in the background.

A blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

And then Drew walked in, dragging a suitcase behind him, like he’d simply returned from a normal business trip.

Like the last month hadn’t happened.

He dropped his keys onto the counter. Looked around. Then frowned slightly.

“Babe, no dinner?”