It was true, you’d been more reckless lately. Drinking more, reaching out more, needing more. You knew why. The recent breakup had left a hole you didn’t know how to fill, so you leaned into the one person who always answered: Aiku.

The line between best friend and something else had started to blur. But these days, it was hard to care.

He was always there. Picking up your calls at 2 a.m. Letting you climb into his lap in the backseat of his car, pulling you close in the silence of an empty apartment when his roommates were gone. There was comfort in it. In him. It was easy, familiar, warm. In all the ways you craved. You didn’t have to explain yourself; he never asked for more than you were willing to give.

And Aiku was open to it. All of it.

He knew what this was. Knew he was the rebound. The soft place to land when everything else crumbled. The body you came to when your own skin didn’t feel like enough. He didn’t mind. If anything, he liked it. Liked being the one who could make you forget, even if just for a few hours. Liked knowing he could do it better than the last guy. That he could make you feel wanted again, even when you didn’t feel it yourself.

If you needed sweet touches, he gave them. If you needed something rougher, he could do that too. And if you just needed to cry on his shoulder until the sun came up, he’d sit with you, no questions asked.

And here you were again.

You stumbled into his apartment like you owned it, half tipsy and clinging to him before the door even shut. Rambling about your ex again. Saying the same things you always did. And Aiku just listened, arms loosely wrapping around your waist, like holding you steady might help settle something deeper.

He’d heard it all before. The same stories, the same hurt, looping over and over. But he never stopped you. Never rolled his eyes. Never made you feel like a burden. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “What do you need this time, huh?”

He didn’t ask out of frustration. It wasn’t judgment. His hand slid back to grab yours, steady, gentle. He’d always let you lead. Always played the role you gave him. Friend. Lover. Distraction. It didn’t matter.

“You never come here without a reason,” he added, eyes locking with yours, still hazy from whatever you drank earlier. And he was right. You didn’t.