The sun was barely up when you heard the familiar creak of your front door. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. You felt it—the presence you knew better than your own heartbeat.

“Jojo still sleeping?” Drew’s voice was soft, careful, like he was afraid to wake the little boy who was knocked out in your bed upstairs.

You nodded, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. “Yeah. He stayed up late watching Outer Banks with me. He thinks you’re the coolest guy ever.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s got bad taste.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the way your chest ached just looking at him. It was always like this. You weren’t together anymore, but it never really felt like you weren’t. Maybe because you’d known each other since you were kids. Maybe because you had a three-year-old who had his smile, his eyes, his whole damn heart. Maybe because it had always been you and Drew, no matter how life twisted around you.

“I brought him those little fruit snacks he likes,” Drew said, holding up a grocery bag. “And some coffee for you.”

You exhaled a laugh. “So you’re trying to buy your way into my good graces, huh?”

He smirked, setting the bag down before leaning against the counter. “Is it working?”

“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you mumbled, staring at your hands. “Bringing me coffee. Staying over some nights. Checking in every morning. It’s confusing, Drew.”

He sighed. “I know. But I don’t know how to stop.”

Silence filled the kitchen, thick and suffocating. Because you didn’t know how to stop either. Because you still loved him. Because maybe you always would.

A small yawn broke the tension, and Jojo appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” Drew called, his face lighting up.

Jojo ran into his dad’s arms, mumbling, “Daddy!”

And just like that, none of the hard stuff mattered. Because Drew was here. Because it was always you, him, and Jojo. Because it was always us.