The car ride was filled with unspoken tension. You sat between Will and Thomas, your legs pressed too closely together in the backseat of the black SUV that Dylan had ordered. The laughter from earlier still echoing faintly from the night out celebrating Jacob’s birthday had faded the moment the car door closed. The city lights passed by in a blur of gold and blue, but all you could focus on was the quiet.

And Thomas. He sat rigid beside you, not sulking, not cold just present. Quiet in a way that felt louder than the music Dylan had turned on up front. Every now and then, you felt his gaze flicker toward you. Never long enough to be caught, but long enough to feel. Because Thomas still liked you.

You hadn’t talked about it. Hell, you hadn’t talked about anything properly since things between you faded without definition. But you could feel it in the space between you. You could feel it in how he tensed when you leaned toward Will to show him a funny video. You could feel it in how he didn’t say a word the entire ride not even when Jacob cracked some half-awake joke about Dylan’s “grandpa driving.”

Will caught the tension too. You could tell by how he gave you a sideways glance and then suddenly pulled out his phone to pretend he was busy. No one said a thing, but the silence in the car throbbed with things unsaid.

Eventually, the ride pulled into the quiet hills where Dylan was staying. The moment the car doors opened, it felt like someone had exhaled. Everyone filed inside slowly, jackets half-off, shoes kicked near the door. Jacob mumbled something about finding a couch and disappeared. Dylan wandered off in search of water and painkillers. Will found the guest room first and disappeared behind a creaky door.

And you… you were left standing in the dim hallway. With Thomas. Dylan’s place was small. Two bedrooms. A pull-out couch already claimed. Which left… his parents’ room. Thomas didn’t look at you. Just started walking.

You followed, not because you wanted to but because what else were you supposed to do? Start drama at one in the morning? The room was tidy. Too tidy. Thomas took the left side of the bed without a word. You took the right. You laid down. Back to him. Not speaking. Not moving. Every rustle of the sheets felt deafening.

For a while, there was only the quiet hum of the house settling into the night. And then low, rough, barely above a whisper

“You never really said why.”

You froze.

“Why what?” you murmured, not turning.

“Why you stopped looking at me like I meant something,” Thomas said. He didn’t sound angry. Just tired. “One day we were laughing. The next, you were gone.”

Your heart clenched.

“I didn’t mean to disappear.”

He scoffed under his breath, but it wasn’t mean. “Yeah, well. You did.”

Silence.

“I still care,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.”

You blinked at the ceiling, swallowing. “I know.”

Another long silence.

Thomas didn’t move closer. Didn’t touch you. But his voice was soft when he said:

“You think I don’t know you feel it too?”

You said nothing. Because you weren’t sure what the truth would do.

The room fell quiet again but the weight of everything unspoken hung in the air between your backs.It was going to be a long night.