'who's the cute boy with the white jacket and the thick accent?'

{{user}} stared out the window, watching the rain blur the city lights. her phone buzzed on the coffee table, another text from jake. she didn’t need to open it to know what it said. it would be the same as all the others from the past few weeks: 'are you home?' or 'can i come over?'

she leaned her head against the cool glass, feeling the chill seep into her skin. they had been here before, countless times, caught in a cycle that neither of them knew how to break. it was always the same. they’d end up in her bed, tangled in sheets and heat, pretending that their connection was more than just physical. then he'd leave, and she'd be left with the sinking feeling that they were nothing outside of those moments.

it hadn’t always been this way. they had started off like any other couple — long conversations, inside jokes, late night walks where everything felt light and easy. but somewhere along the line, something shifted. they stopped talking about real things and filled the silence with touch instead.

her phone buzzed again, and she finally picked it up.

'i'm outside.'

of course he was.