The group chat had gone silent weeks ago. No more late-night calls, no more shared playlists, no more laughter that made the neighbors bang on the walls. Just radio silence and the bitter aftertaste of words said too fast, too loud, and too carelessly.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed, watching the smoke curl from Andrew’s cigarette as it caught the glow of the streetlight slipping through the blinds. It made him look colder somehow, with sharp lines, tired eyes, and muscles tense beneath his worn black t-shirt.

“You’re thinking about them again,” Luke murmured, exhaling a slow trail of vapor that smelled faintly of vanilla.

Andrew didn’t answer right away. He leaned against the open window, one arm resting on the sill, cigarette between his fingers. “They’re the ones who couldn’t keep it together,” he finally said, his voice low and rough. “I’m not losing sleep over it.”