You and Max broke up months ago.

It wasn’t explosive; no cheating, no screaming — just too many nights where silence did more damage than words ever could. When it ended, you both agreed to stay friends. Civil. Mature. Normal.

And somehow — you actually did.

Same friend group. Same parties. Same jokes. You learned how to sit across from each other without feeling awkward, how to laugh without lingering, how to pretend the history wasn’t still there. Everyone thought it was impressive. Healthy, even.

Tonight, you all gathered at a friend's house party — nothing crazy. Music humming in the background, cheap drinks, familiar faces. Max is there, leaning against the counter like he always does, talking too casually, laughing too easily. Like nothing between you ever mattered.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

Until someone suggests a drinking game. “Truth or drink,” they grin, already refilling cups.

At first it’s harmless. Embarrassing stories. Stupid confessions. Lots of laughter. But then the questions shift — pointed, personal, a little too sharp to be accidental.

“Worst breakup?” “Someone you never really got over?” “Biggest regret?”

Each question feels heavier than the last. Each sip burns more going down. You can feel Max’s presence even when you’re not looking at him — the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes flick toward you when certain words are said.

Then it’s his turn. Someone smirks. “Truth. About you two.” The room goes quiet, waiting. Max exhales slowly, eyes finally meeting yours — and for the first time tonight, there’s no pretending.