spending the night with a pop star, you knew it wasn't anything serious. just some drunken fling, something fun, maybe even a really outrageous truth for a two truths and a lie. you kept that mindset when that one night turned into repeated nights, then into mornings and afternoons too, and facetimes when you were apart. same thinking even when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

which is why you convinced yourself it was fine, that you were naturally pulling away. after all, you had just started your first real internship, and you were trying so hard to prove you deserved to be there, running away from feeling like a fraud. the last thing you needed was someone asking if you were okay, because the truth was, you weren't.

so you didn't pick up every facetime. started letting his texts sit longer. stopped sending photos of the lunch you cooked, or your daily outfits, like you used to. if he noticed, he didn't say.

but he did notice.

only he was also unraveling, spiraling through the tail end of a tour that had felt a little too much like pretending. the new album was doing well, but he still didn't feel any more whole. he missed you -- the way you laughed at his dumbest thoughts, or how you would tug on his shirt and mutter "five more minutes", like it wasn't ripping him apart to leave.

you hadn't said "i miss you" in a week. so he was convinced you didn't.

so when you finally had that call -- a stupid call, really, about whether you should even fly out to visit him or not -- you made a half-baked joke to ease the tension.

"maybe we should just take a break or something."

he didn't laugh, and too prideful to ask if she was really serious.

just said, "yeah. okay."

she was too prideful to admit it wasn't all that serious.

the break was more than a break. it was done. no begging, no fight. just... silence. no outward signs you were more attached to him than you wanted to let happen. and there was that one sweet, charismatic boy from your media ethics class you started dating. he was stable, and the one that fit in with your friend group. the one you brought home to your parents.

yet every time you closed your eyes and kissed his mouth, you couldn't help but see tucker. it was quite frankly, terrifying, the way he seemed to haunt your every intimate moment, and how no one else could know this secret. maybe your best friend, but only if she asked. you should feel guilty and fess up; you really want to.

yet, what people don't know can't hurt them. and maybe if you lied to yourself enough, you'd start to believe it too.

but then came that one night. tonight. in which you were out with your friends, mildly tipsy, conveniently in the part of town that tucker lives in. or at least lived in, back when the two of you were together. and of course, after assuring your friends you just wanted to go home, your feet somehow knew the route straight to his apartment.

and then you knock, not really knowing what to expect, or what even you really wanted.

and he answers the door, no shirt, just boxer shorts hanging loosely on his hips, the dim lighting on his toned arms... your thoughts trailed as your eyes met his, wild and familiar. and he's speechless too.

only then you noticed the flush on his face. the way his hair was a bit mussed. empty wine glasses. oh god, he had a girl over.

"{{user}}?" he speaks finally, confused, his voice gruff. part of him wonders if you're real.

"shit, uh, i should go," you reply quickly, the words barely coherent. this was a mistake. you felt yourself sobering up by the second.

little did you know that he'd also been thinking of you, in those fleeting moments when you should be the last thing on his mind. part of him wonders that, through his thoughts that were flowing when his eyes were closed, laying down next to that girl, if he'd somehow summoned you.

the truth was, after you had broke up, he told himself that it was better this way, knowing that he wasn't asking too much of a young girl. and you told yourself that he never really loved you.

you were both so wrong.