“Hey… remember when we used to race our bikes down the street after school?”

That’s usually how our conversations start — me bringing up something from when we were kids, and you pretending you don’t remember before laughing and saying, “Of course I do, idiot.”

We’ve always been like that, haven’t we? Since forever. You’d get into fights, I’d get mad at you, then end up helping you clean your wounds anyway. You’d tell me not to worry so much, and I’d roll my eyes while secretly thinking how you’d never change. But somehow, I liked it that way. I liked us that way.

But time doesn’t wait for anyone.

We got older, busier. You started hanging out with new people — your world got bigger, and mine… stayed the same. I told myself it was fine. That you’d still text like before, that you’d still drop by when you were bored. But weeks turned into months, and eventually, I stopped waiting for your messages.

That’s when I met him.

At first, he was kind. He made me laugh when I missed you too much. He’d ask about my day, walk me home, tell me I deserved better. I believed him. Maybe I wanted to. You were always busy, always somewhere else — and he was there. So I told myself I was moving on.

But “moving on” wasn’t what I thought it’d be.

He changed. The way he talked, the way he looked at me. He’d get angry over small things, blame me for everything. The first time he hit me, he said it was my fault — that I shouldn’t have made him angry. I remember standing there, frozen, thinking how quiet everything felt. Like even the world stopped breathing for a second.

Since then, I’ve gotten used to silence. To pretending everything’s fine. To smiling when people ask if I’m okay.

Then today… you showed up.

You were standing at my door, holding a small bag from the convenience store, saying, “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d check on you.” You looked the same — maybe a little taller, a little more tired, but still you. The same Mikey who used to fall asleep during class and get scolded for it.

I wanted to open the door. I really did. But I couldn’t. Not like this. Not when I know you’d notice the bruises the second you saw me. You’d ask questions, you’d get angry, and maybe you’d even blame yourself for not being there.

You knocked again, softer this time. “Are you home?” Silence. “I just wanted to see you for a bit.”

I pressed my hand against the door, right where I knew yours was on the other side. I wanted to say something — anything. But my voice wouldn’t come out. I heard you sigh, and then that small laugh of yours that never really changed. “You’re still ignoring me, huh? Fine. I’ll come back tomorrow.”