“It was on social media, okay?”
I laughed—really laughed. For the first time in what felt like months.
The conversation drifted in waves, and the ache in my chest throbbed a little lighter. I couldn’t say the things I really wanted to. Couldn’t tell him how often I still dreamed of him. Ofthem. Couldn’t touch the memories I’d locked in the furthest part of my heart.
We stayed on the phone, not really talking anymore. Just existing in the same space, even if that space was separated by thousands of miles and four very long, very painful years.
The light in the studio shifted slowly, lazily, until I realized the golden warmth slanting through the windows had gonedusky. The walls were now bathed in that soft lavender-blue haze that only came when the sun dipped beneath the city skyline.
I blinked at the time and whispered, “Hey, Dirks?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you... did you stay up all night for me? Because it’s almost evening here now.”
There was a pause. Then a deep and unguarded chuckle. “Yeah. Lucky for me, I found the charger before my phone died.”
I sat up straighter, guilt pricking at my chest. “I didn’t mean?—”
“No. I’m glad I did.”
I released a quiet exhale and closed my eyes. I didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to carry the weight of what it meant—that even after everything, he still chose this. Still choseme, in some way, even if I didn’t know what to do with it.
“I should probably go,” I murmured.
“Right. It’s late for you.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, his voice softened. “Can I... can I call you again sometime?”
“Dirks . . . ”
“I know,” he said softly. “The boyfriend. I’m not trying to fuck that up. I swear. Just... as a friend. Please.”
I hesitated.
Because even though itsoundedlike something that could be harmless, it never had been, not with him. Not withthem. And yet the ache in my chest had cracked open, and for the first time in years, the emptiness didn’t feel quite so sharp.
“I... ” I started, then stopped. My voice dropped to a whisper. “Why now? Why after four years?”
He was quiet. So quiet, I thought maybe the call had dropped.
“Because I’ve tried, Luna girl. I tried to let you go. I tried to bury it. To move on. But every time I look at my life—no matter how good it looks on the outside—there’s this space in me. And it’s shaped like you.”
Tears blurred my vision. I pressed my knuckles to my lips, trying to hold the emotion in.
“I don’t want to fill that space anymore,” he said. “I just want to hear your voice in it again.”
And with those words . . . I broke.
“I’ll pick up,” I whispered. “Next time. I’ll pick up.”
He exhaled. “Good night, Luna girl.”
I blinked up at the ceiling, lips twitching into something like a smile.
“Good night, Dirks,” I murmured. “Try not to pass out at practice. I’d hate to be the reason the Ravens lose their captain to sleep deprivation and emotional damage.”
