But I don’t.
“I’m worried about you,” he says finally. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but—Magnus, open the door. Please.”
I bite my lip until it hurts. My fingers twitch against the blankets, restless, as if they could reach out and pull him in without me even moving. I want to. I want to crawl across the apartment and grab him, beg him to make this stop, beg him to make me care about something again.
But I can’t.
I hear him sigh. Long, steady. It’s not defeated, not yet. He’s patient. Damn him, he’s patient.
“You’re better than this,” he says. “You’re not just some shattered mess who drinks to forget. You’re Magnus fucking Flint. You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re ridiculous sometimes, but you’re alive and you can still fight. You don’t have to sit here and drink yourself into oblivion just because someone decided you weren’t their forever.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate that I want to throw open the door and cling to him. I hate that I want someone to tell me that I matter, that it’s not all over.
I press back against the couch, trying to disappear into it, trying to erase myself. My phone is dead. The lights are off. The bottlesare empty. But Phoenix doesn’t leave. He’s still there, outside my apartment, waiting for me to acknowledge him.
“You’re not alone, Magnus,” he says. “You’ve got people who care. People who want to help you. And I—look, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you yet, but I’m not giving up. Not on you. Not like this.”
I swallow hard. My throat aches. I can’t speak. I can’t.
I hear him shift again, his voice fading slightly as he crouches down, as if trying to be less intimidating. “I know you think I don’t get it, but I do. I’ve been where you are, twisting yourself into someone else just to feel like you’re enough. And it doesn’t work. You don’t want it to work. You want him, and that’s fine. But you’re still you, Magnus, and that doesn’t disappear just because he walked away.”
I close my eyes. My heart is pounding. My stomach is a knot of guilt, grief, and rage at myself. The alcohol buzz feels distant now, hollow.
“I’m not going to open the door,” I say finally, loud enough for him to hear.
Phoenix sighs again, the sound carrying warmth and exasperation at the same time. “Okay. Fine. But I’m not leaving. You call me. You text me. You wake up tomorrow, and I’m here. You don’t get to disappear. Not like this.”
The sound of his footsteps fades slowly as he moves down the hall. I know he’s not gone far. He won’t be, he’s too stubborn to leave.
And yet, I feel empty. Hollow. The apartment is quiet again, save for the hum of the fridge and the distant traffic. I reach for another bottle, my hands shaking. The alcohol is weak now, unable to dull the ache of missing him, the ache of needing someone who doesn’t want me.
I can’t. I can’t stop. I don’t know how to stop.
And somewhere down the hall, I know Phoenix waits.
? ? ?
I slide the door open a crack, careful not to wake Phoenix. His head is bent over his knees. His steady breathing carries through the hallway, too peaceful, too innocent, and I can’t risk him seeing me like this. Not now. Not tonight.
I creep past, bare feet on the cold hardwood. Every creak of the floor sounds like a shout in my head.
Phoenix stirs, just a flicker of movement in his sleep, but he doesn’t open his eyes. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief and slip out the main door. The cool night air hits me immediately, harsh and real, and for a moment I’m dizzy from the sharpness of it.
I wander without thought, my feet carrying me toward the corner club I know too well. The neon sign flickers in the mist, pink and blue bleeding into the wet sidewalk. I push through the door, the heat and music hitting me like a wave. The smell of sweat and perfume and alcohol is familiar, and I hate that it’s comforting.
I order a drink at the bar without thinking, my hand shaking slightly as I grab the glass. I swallow it in one gulp, the burn climbing my throat, settling in my stomach like fire. I need it. Not because it’s pleasurable anymore, but because it numbs the thoughts clawing at me. Every memory, every “what if,” every whisper of his name pressing against my skull.
I move to the dance floor, letting the pounding bass guide my movements. I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care if anyone sees how broken I am behind the mask of confidence I’ve always worn. I dance like I’m trying to shake him out of me, like if I move fast enough, if I sweat enough, if I lose myself enough, maybe the pain will finally leave.
A hand brushes mine. I glance up to see a guy with sharp features and a crooked smile. He’s tall, dark, and magnetic, the kind of face that makes me forget myself for a second. I can feel the heat rising in my chest, the alcohol loosening what little restraint I have left.
“You dancing alone?” he asks, voice low, teasing.
I smirk, because smirking is safe, and it feels like power even though I’m a mess. “For now,” I answer, letting my words slip through like I don’t care.
He laughs, leaning closer. “Not for long, maybe.”
We move together on the floor, the music a blur around us. Hands on shoulders, hips brushing, a flirtation that feels alive and dangerous. My pulse pounds in rhythm with the bass. I can feel the alcohol feeding the reckless part of me that wants to forget. That wants to be anyone but Magnus who aches for Alaric.
