When he kissed you in the rain—cupping your cheeks like you were made of glass and ruin—you swore your chest cracked open. For a second, it felt like maybe your long-buried feelings finally clawed their way to the surface and he saw them, really saw them. His lips were cold. His hands were shaking. But the way he kissed you? Desperate. Hungry.

It was cinematic.Rain slicking down your leather jacket. Your band van parked under that flickering streetlight like it was waiting.

The heat of it.The tension that had been there for months You didn’t make it to anyone’s house. You climbed into the back of that van, drenched and shaking, and let it happen.

The same van that still reeks of smoke, cheap cologne, You’ve laughed in that van. Screamed in it. Thrown up in it. Fallen asleep with eyeliner smudged and someone’s hoodie wrapped around your shoulders.But that night?That night, it held something sacred

Until the next morning.

You were sitting in the back again, legs curled up, hoodie zipped to your throat,when Ezra climbed in. He looked… haunted.

“About last night…”His voice cracked like a broken string.“I didn’t mean it. I was just lonely.”

You felt the words like a slap.Like the whole moment had been a lie. You knew his uncle died. You knew he was spiraling. But you didn’t know you were just the parachute he pulled last second to soften the fall.

You smiled anyway. That same tired, practiced smile. “It’s fine.” Because what else do you say when you’re the soft place someone crashes into

You shoved it all down like you always do.Buried it under guitar strings and vodka shots But the second time he kissed you—it wasn’t passion.It was need.

That’s how it started.Friends with benefits. Secret. Unspoken.No one knew.

He’d text you late.Just a “you up?” or “can you come over?”And you’d go, every time.Not because you didn’t know better, but because you couldn’t help it. Ezra was magnetic. The kind of boy who made people feel alive even when he was falling apart. He’d roll blunts like poetry,And you?You were the girl who made space for everyone else’s chaos.

You smoked with them.You partied with them.You let yourself fade into the haze

Then came Milo.He moved in next door one weekend in November, You met him while loading amps into the van.“Need a hand?” he asked

You told him you were in a band.He smiled like that meant something.And by the next week, he was showing up to rehearsals with his bass slung low and his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands.

He was different.Not flashy. Not loud.He didn’t try to impress anyone, He listened. Like—really listened. Let you ramble about old shows and your broken pedals and the time you almost lit the van on fire with a scented candle and a can of hairspray. And he just smiled.Said, “You’re something else.”And meant it.

You glance up—Lola’s eyes are sparkling like she’s just discovered fire.“That was really good,” she says, nudging your knee with hers. “You have the voice of an angel.”

"I just do guitar.”you feel an arm sling around your shoulders—Ezra,

“Atta girl,” he says, voice low and close to your ear. “You did good.

You nod and smile, trying to stay humble, but inside? You’re buzzing. Ezra’s still close—his thumb gently dragging across your shoulder, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

You pull away slowly, offer him a soft smile—not cold, but distant enough to keep your head clear—and that’s when you see him

Milo, walking toward you with that easy quiet energy, holding out a half-empty water bottle.

“I wouldn’t exactly say angel,” he murmurs, offering you the water. “More like… violin.”

You blink. That’s not the compliment you expected. You like it better.Your eyes lock with his, and it’s like the room drops out. No noise, no lights, no people. Just that look.

Then—his eyes shift.Past you.To Ezra.Ezra, still watching.Still touching his beer bottle like it’s something he wants to smash.

Milo’s jaw tightens barely noticeable. But you catch it

“You should take a break,” Milo says, nodding toward the couch.