I shift, folding my legs under me. “I thought you were this guy who just... skated through relationships. Who never cared enough to get hurt. Who always had the upper hand.” I shrug. “I was wrong.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. Or maybe just relief. That I didn't brush it off. That I'm not teasing or downplaying or deflecting.
“We're both messed up,” I continue, my voice steadier than I feel. “Maybe that's actually... okay? Maybe it's better than one person having their shit together and the other one being a disaster. At least we’d know what we're getting into.”
I surprise myself with this admission. With this willingness to even consider the possibility of an “us.”
He doesn't say anything. Just looks at me with those stupid blue eyes like he's trying to figure out who I am now.
And the truth is, I'm not sure.
But for the first time, I'm considering that maybe being a little broken isn't the same as being unfixable. Maybe it just means you have to find someone whose broken pieces fit with yours.
Troy checks his phone, breaking the moment.
“Damn, forgot to plug it in earlier,” he mutters. “Battery's dead. Can I borrow yours? I want to text Freddie to let him know I'm not coming to the gym tonight.”
Because you're here. With me.
The unspoken words hang in the air between us.
“Sure,” I say, gesturing to where my phone sits on the counter. “Go ahead.”
Troy picks it up, hesitates, then glances back at me. “Uh, what's your passcode?”
I tell him without thinking, watching as he types it in. It'sonly after I've said it that I realize I've never given anyone my phone code before.
“Mind if I go on your Instagram?” he asks.
“Yeah, I don't really use it anyway,” I say. It's true, I'm barely on it. But due to my proximity to Troy, I do now have his whole little family on there, including Freddie.
He finds what he needs, then hands it back.
“Thanks.”
I nod, then realize something. “Wait, you don't use a passcode on your phone?” I'd noticed he just pressed the power button to unlock it yesterday.
He shrugs. “Too much hassle. I've got nothing to hide anyway.”
“That's incredibly naive in 2025,” I say, shaking my head. “What if someone steals it? Or goes through your messages?”
“Then they'd be bored to death reading about engineering problems and group chats with the guys.” He laughs. “Seriously, there's nothing interesting on there.”
He’s so open, so different from how I guard every aspect of my life.
Troy glances over at the small TV stand in the corner. “You, uh... got anything to watch?”
“You want to watch a movie?”
He shrugs. “Seems like the right thing to do after a life-altering sandwich and a traumatic overshare.”
I huff a soft laugh. “Ok, yeah.”
He gets up and starts flipping through the small stack of DVDs beside the TV like he's handling priceless artifacts.
“Okay, these are kind of elite,” he says, holding up a copy of Twilight. “Is this a ‘watch ironically’ collection or a ‘this is actually comfort cinema’ situation?”
“Edward Cullen is a national treasure,” I reply flatly.
