I just — let him come back.
The way I always do.
• • •
I start seeing Cassian again.
Not every day.
Not like before.
But I’ll take anything he gives me.
Always.
I know that about myself now.
I know it’s toxic.
I know I die a bit every time.
I do it anyway.
Because there’s a version of my life without him in it and I’ve had a glimpse of what that feels like and I’d rather be this — small,hopeful, slightly wrecked — than go back to those two weeks of nothing.
• • •
I smile the second I see him waiting on the curb.
Like nothing happened.
Like the door and the driveway and the empty bed in the morning are just — part of it. Part of him. Part of what I’ve agreed to by loving him the way I do.
“Cass!” My dad calls out, slowing the car. “Jump in.”
He pretends to drive past, speeding up for a second as a joke.
“Dad,” I groan.
Cassian just laughs, jogging alongside before hopping in like he’s done it a hundred times.
Which he has.
He’s already talking before the door shuts.
“— and then he tries to say it wasn’t due today but it literally says it on the board —”
I let him go.
And on.
And on.
Just watching him.
Listening to his voice fill in all the empty space he left behind.
I’ve missed this so much it embarrasses me.
