“That’s Henry,” I said, my gaze shifting to the boy whose hand I was holding. He was smiling wide at the camera, completely unguarded. Completely happy.
“That’s Henry?” Austin asked, confused.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “He used?”
“Yeah…” Austin trailed off, conflicted.
“Is that how—” I stopped myself, careful. “Is that how he overdosed?” For some reason, it made sense. More sense than anything else had. No one had believed Henry killed himself. It had never fit. Not for someone like him.
Austin’s face fell. He sighed deeply, then shook his head. “No, Blair,” he said quietly. “Zane told Seren how it happened. Itwasn’t drugs.” The understanding I’d tried to build fractured again. “Maybe that would’ve been easier,” Austin said softly. “For you. For Zane. For all his friends.” His eyes stayed on the picture. “Maybe it would’ve made more sense if there was a reason. Something to blame. Someone to blame. Maybe sometimes there isn’t a reason that makes sense,” he continued. “Maybe there’s always more going on than we ever get to see.”
“Maybe there isn’t more to the story,” I said simply, like I was finishing both his thoughts and my own.
“Maybe not,” Austin agreed, sitting down beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight.
“I wonder if Henry knows,” I said, still looking at the faded picture, my eyes tracing my old friend's face.
“What?” Austin asked.
“That we’d all end up here,” I said quietly. “Me. You. Zane. Seren.”
“Maybe he does,” Austin said. “Maybe this is really Henry’s story in the end.”
I mulled Austin’s words over in my mind, wondering if they were true. Maybe this really was Henry’s story, like he said. Maybe Henry was watching us from somewhere above, like a movie, curious to see how the plot would turn out. Maybe he was just as eager to witness the ending. Maybe he was just as clueless as I was when it came to predicting how it would all finish. I couldn’t see the resolution yet. Right now, I had no idea what the ending was supposed to be.
“Yeah,” I finally hummed in agreement.
Austin looked just as lost in thought as I was, though his eyes never left my face. They were glassy with exhaustion, but deepall the same, like he was holding more than he knew what to do with.
“Blair,” he said quietly, moving one of his hands so his fingers brushed along my arm, like he was trying to pull me back into the moment through touch alone.
“Yeah?” I echoed, repeating the same simple word from seconds earlier.
“How are you doing?” he asked. His voice was hesitant, gentle, like he remembered how fragile I’d been the last time we were together. When it was just us, stripped of everything else.
I let out a slow breath as the last two weeks flooded my mind all at once. The pain. The fear. The tears. And then, finally, the hope.
“I feel better,” I said honestly. “And really… it’s all thanks to you.” I swallowed. “You might have saved my life, you know. Besides my family and Cherry, I don’t know if anyone else would have done what you did.” My voice softened. “I owe you so much because of it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough.”
For the first time all night, Austin smiled. It wasn’t one of his usual smiles. It wasn’t bright. It was dimmer, like a memory of something beautiful—but it was there.
“You don’t have to thank me, Blair,” he whispered, his hand brushing my arm again. His touch was so light I almost questioned whether I’d imagined it.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, meeting his eyes. “I do. I really do. Thank you. Forever.”
Austin didn’t speak right away. He just looked at me. After what could have been seconds or minutes, he smiled again. “You’re welcome, Yellow.”
The word made my heart flutter, pulling me back to earlier days when that was all he ever called me. Though maybe those times hadn’t been simpler at all. Maybe they’d been just as complicated—we just hadn’t known it yet. Silence settled between us. I wasn’t sure if we were out of words, or if so much had happened that we both needed to pause. Maybe it was both. The tension was still there, thick and undeniable. It felt heavy enough to touch, to grab hold of. Unresolved.
“So,” I finally said, breaking the silence with a sigh. “It kind of feels like everything is… I don’t know.” I hesitated. “I don’t want to say resolved. But like… we can see it now.”
Austin frowned slightly, his eyebrows pulling together as he tried to follow my meaning. “What do you mean?” he asked, still gentle.
“Well,” I said, exhaling, “everything’s on the table now. Your secrets. Mine. All the real stuff. It’s finally out in the open.” He nodded slowly, though he still looked unsure. “It kind of feels like we never really knew each other,” I admitted softly.
Austin let out a long breath, his eyes lifting to meet mine again. He studied my face like he was searching for something, though I didn’t know what. He didn’t answer. So we just stared at each other instead.
“Maybe we only knew the people we wanted each other to see,” Austin said finally. “We were pretending to be the best versions of ourselves.”
