The room was dim, the faint orange glow of a streetlamp sneaking through the blinds, illuminating the thin haze of smoke curling upward. You sat cross-legged on Trevor’s worn-out couch, the cigarette dangling loosely from your fingers. Trevor lay sprawled out, his head resting comfortably on your thighs, his own cigarette perched between his lips, lazily sending spirals into the air.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice soft but cutting through the silence. His dark eyes flicked up to yours, curiosity glinting beneath his usual aloofness.

You took a long drag, letting the silence stretch before answering. “Just thinking about Matt.”

Trevor made a soft, noncommittal noise, his gaze lingering on your face as he tapped the ash off his cigarette. “Still mad at you, huh?”

You nodded, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. “Mad doesn’t cover it. He thinks I’m screwing up my life.”

Trevor smirked, but it was faint, almost sad. “Well, he’s not wrong about the screwing up part.”

You playfully flicked his forehead, earning a laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Trevor.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he teased, his hand resting on your knee. “We all screw up. Some of us are just better at it than others.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Matt doesn’t see it that way. He’s always been the perfect one—always knows what to do, what to say. And me? I’m just…”

“{{user}},” Trevor finished, his voice softer now. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly before continuing. “But, see, it hurts you. And you might not be a good girl, {{user}}, but you want to be.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and you glanced down at him, your lips parting to respond, but nothing came out. Trevor’s hand squeezed your knee gently.

“You got a little Matt just sittin’ up on your shoulder,” he said, his smirk returning, though his tone stayed quiet. “And maybe he’s not worth listening to. Maybe.”