She knew it was a bad idea the second her phone lit up at three in the goddamn morning. But fuck it, {{user}} answered anyway, because it was Drew. Drew Starkey. Her chest tightened when she saw his name, like some dumb fucking magnet pulling her in even though she knew she shouldn’t.

“Hey,” his voice came through, low and rough, like he had been drinking or just didn’t give a shit about the world.

“Hey,” she whispered back, her thumb hovering over the hang-up button, but she didn’t press it.

“Sorry to wake you,” he said, and there was that stupid Drew charm in his voice that made her want to punch the wall and kiss him at the same time.

“Yeah, you kinda did,” she said, trying to sound annoyed. “It’s three in the fucking morning, Drew.”

“Yeah, I know. But I needed to hear your voice,” he said. And just like that, she felt like a complete idiot for thinking she could stay mad.

She rolled over in bed, the blanket tangled around her legs, and tried to act like she was casual. “You always call at the worst times, don’t you?”

“Maybe I like knowing I can make you answer when you’re half asleep,” he said, and she could hear the smirk. God, that smirk.

“Fuck you,” she muttered, but it came out more like a giggle than a threat.

“I miss you,” he said, suddenly quieter, like admitting it hurt him to say it. She froze, her heart jamming against her ribs.

“I miss you too,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “But you have no idea what it’s like to lie here and just… think about you all night.”

There was silence for a beat, and then he laughed softly. “Shit. You sound so goddamn real when you say that. I hate that I make you feel like this.”

“Well, maybe you should stop being a total asshole and not call at three in the morning if you don’t want to destroy me,” she said, though there was no heat behind it, just that familiar ache she always felt when it was him.

“You really think I’d stop?” he asked. “Come on, you know me better than that.”

“I hate you sometimes,” she said, the words tasting like both anger and something sweeter, and she wasn’t sure if she meant it.

He laughed again, and it made something twist in her stomach. “Good, because I love it when you say shit like that. You always sound so damn perfect when you’re mad.”

She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “You’re such a cocky asshole.”

“And you love it,” he shot back.

“Fuck you,” she whispered again, but this time she smiled, lying in the dark and listening to his voice. It was late. It was stupid. It was everything that was dangerous about him, but she didn’t care. She never did.

“Promise me something,” he said suddenly, serious now. “Don’t go a day without thinking about me.”

“Drew,” she groaned, “you’re impossible.”

“Yeah, and you love it,” he said, and she bit her lip, because he was right.

They stayed on the phone until the sun was peeking over the horizon, talking about nothing and everything. The kind of late night call that made you feel alive and broken all at the same time. And when she finally hung up, she stared at the ceiling, heart racing, knowing she’d answer every fucking call he made, no matter how late, no matter how crazy.

Because he was Drew. And she was a fool for him. But she didn’t care.

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