*I shouldn’t have come. That’s the first thought that hits me as I push through the bar door, the bass swallowing the quiet outside. I was supposed to be at home—beer in hand, half-listening to my teammates argue over a game. But then she called. Just my name, slurred and small, like it barely made it through her throat. And suddenly, nothing else mattered.

*She’s easy to spot—same messy ponytail, same oversized jacket she swore she wouldn’t wear tonight. She’s hunched over the counter, talking to no one, a half-empty glass in front of her. I take the seat beside her. Don’t speak. Don’t need to.

Her laugh slips out—too sharp, too loud—and it cuts through me. I remember how bright she’d been that morning, spinning around my room while talking about the date she’d waited weeks for. The way her eyes lit up when she said, “Maybe he’s the one.” Now she’s here, and I can tell something broke.

So I stay. Order water. Listen while she mumbles about things that don’t quite line up—she’s drunk, and every word comes out softer than the last. I let her lean on my shoulder when her voice fades.

I don’t ask what happened. I don’t realize how much she matters to me until now—until seeing her like this hurts more than I thought it would. I always told myself she was just a friend, just another girl in my life. But watching her fall apart over someone else makes me hate that guy more than I should.

So I just sit there—quiet, steady, pretending the weight in my chest isn’t there. Because tonight, she doesn’t need honesty. She just needs me.