“Yeah. Caught an early flight.” I fidget with the hem of his t-shirt, suddenly hyperaware that I'm still wearing it. “So, I guess that means I can move back into my place now. We can officially break up.”
I try to make it sound light, joking, but it comes out flat and awkward instead.
“Right,” Brandon says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Back to normal.”
“Back to normal,” I echo, though nothing about this feels normal.
The silence stretches between us, filled with everything we're not saying. About what just happened. About how it felt. About what it means that we can barely look at each other now.
“I should probably get my things together.” I gesture vaguely toward my stuff scattered around his apartment.
“Sure. Yeah. No rush.”
But there is a rush because standing here looking freshly almost-fucked while he looks everywhere except at me is torture. I need space to think, to figure out what the hell just happened between us and why I feel despair deep in my bones when I think about going back to my empty apartment across the hall.
I start gathering my belongings: clothes I'd snuck into his dresser over the past few days, my toiletries, which had claimed a spot on his bathroom counter, and the work files I'd spread across his coffee table like I lived here. Each item I pack feels heavier than it should, like I'm dismantling something that was starting to feel permanent, even though it's only been less than a week. The toothbrush beside his, my sweater draped over his chair, the coffee mug I used every morning—all things that created an illusion of us that's hard to let go of.
Brandon helps wordlessly, handing me things and making space in the bag I'm using to carry everything back acrossthe hall. Back to my own apartment, where everything will be exactly as I left it. Separate. The way it's supposed to be.
“I'll just…” I pause at his door, my bag heavy in my hands. “I'll catch up with you later.”
Later. The word sits between us like a question neither of us knows how to answer. Later today? Later this week? Later, when we've both figured out how to pretend this never happened?
“Yeah,” he says, opening the door for me. “Later.”
I cross the hallway to my own apartment, and my key shakes slightly as I unlock the door. Inside, everything looks exactly the same as when I left it a week ago, but somehow, it feels different. Smaller. Emptier.
I drop my bag by the door and sink onto my couch, trying to make sense of what just happened. One week ago, we were just friends. Good friends who helped each other out and watched trashy TV on Thursday nights with our favorite takeout.
Now I have no idea what we are.
twenty-six
. . .
Brandon
Man Chat
Jake
Welcome to the brotherhood, Brandon! About damn time we got you in here.
Wyatt
Wait. Is the invite because of Stella? Or are we changing the rules?
Lucas
Stella or no Stella, welcome to the fun.
Grant
Saw you both at that FlixPix premiere last night – very cozy.
Brandon
Thanks guys. But Stella and I are just friends.
