The subway rattled beneath them, a steady hum in the silence. It smelled like stale air and rust, the kind of place where time felt frozen. The kind of place where people passed through but never stayed.

Grayson sat stiff beside her, arms crossed, gaze locked on the window as the city blurred past in streaks of dull orange and electric blue.

He wasn’t sure why he was here.

Well, he did. He just didn’t want to admit it.

Beside him, Amelie had fallen asleep, her head tucked against his shoulder like it belonged there. Like it always had.

It didn’t. Not anymore.

But his body betrayed him, every muscle frozen, unwilling to shift her away. He told himself it was nothing. Just exhaustion, just muscle memory. Not need. Not longing.

Her breath was soft, rising and falling in time with the train’s rhythm. A strand of light brown hair had fallen across her cheek, golden highlights catching in the flickering subway lights. He could still remember the way she used to braid it in the summers, barefoot on his front porch, her hands twisting through the strands as she talked about leaving this place someday.

She still smelled the same.

Vanilla and lavender.

Like warm kitchens and childhood.

Like home.

Like something he shouldn’t still miss.

His chest twisted.

He should wake her. Her stop was coming up.

But if he moved, he’d have to pull away.

And if he pulled away, she’d leave again.

Just like before.

Just like he made her.

His fingers curled into his knee. The tension coiled, thick, heavy. And then—before he could stop himself, before he could be smart—he shifted. Moved too suddenly, too roughly.

Her head slipped from his shoulder.

She jolted awake.

His heart sank, but he masked it well.

Amelie blinked at him, groggy, confusion flickering across her face. “What was that for?”

He kept his eyes on the subway doors, his voice carefully indifferent. “You were drooling.”

A scoff. A roll of her brown eyes. “I don’t drool, Gray.”

He almost smiled. Almost.

She stretched, reaching down to grab something from her bag. Her fingers brushed against his leg—light, fleeting. But it still sent something sharp through him, something restless, something dangerous.

His jaw tightened.

She pulled out a tube of lip gloss, twisting it open. And then—like the universe had it out for him—she ran it over her lips. Slow, unbothered, her reflection caught in the subway window.

He looked away, gripping his knee harder.

She shouldn’t still make him feel like this. Not after everything.

Not after the last time.

Not after the night she called him, voice breaking, telling him she was leaving for New York, and he—stupid, grieving, angry—told her he didn’t care.

That she should go.

That she should stay gone.

And she did.

Until now.

He cleared his throat, voice strained. “Why not go home and sleep?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here with you.” She shrugged. “And besides, med school is tiring.”

He stilled.

A step forward.

His fingers curled against his knee.

She said it so easily, like she didn’t know what she was doing to him. Like she had no idea that he used to stare at his phone, debating whether to call. Like she didn’t know that he used to ask himself if things would’ve been different if he hadn’t lost his dad, if grief hadn’t hollowed him out and made him someone he hated.

A sharp smirk found its way to his lips, but it felt hollow. “Is my presence really that amusing?”

“Maybe.” She capped the gloss, tucking it away. The train was slowing, brakes screeching. “It’s been years since we’ve talked.”

And whose fault was that?

They stepped off the subway, the city swallowing them whole. Cold air wrapped around them, biting at their skin. The streets pulsed with movement—horns blaring, neon lights flashing against glass windows, people brushing past without a glance.

A man in a dark coat shoved into Amelie, barely sparing her a look.

Grayson didn’t think. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around hers, pulling her out of the street’s current, onto the sidewalk near the park.

A step forward.

Her fingers stiffened in his, just for a second. But she didn’t pull away.

She looked up at him, breath curling in the cold air. “School’s that way.”

“I know.”

A pause.

The city moved around them, indifferent to the storm gathering between them.

She looked down at their hands—his still curled around hers, hers still not pulling away. The streetlights cast a glow over her face, and for a second, she looked just like she did when they were kids.

When things were simple.

When love wasn’t something tangled and sharp-edged.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He swallowed. “I don’t know.” A deep breath, “What is this, Amelie?”

A step forward.

Her eyes searched his face, looking for something—some sign that this wasn’t another mistake.

And for a second, he thought she might give in.

But then something flickered across her face—hesitation, fear.

Not fear of him.

Fear of what he could do to her again.

Grayson had hurt her before—with words meant to push her away, with the way he let her leave without stopping her. He told her he didn’t care, and she believed him.

She wasn’t going to make that mistake twice.

A step back.

Her fingers twitched in his, like she was about to pull away.

And then, just like that, she did.

A step back.

The cold rushed in instantly.

“A walk to my school,” she murmured, but her voice wasn’t light anymore.

“No.” His voice was low, urgent. “What is this?”

She inhaled sharply, gaze flickering away. “I don’t know, Gray.” A pause. A breath. And then, too quickly—

“It’s nothing.”

A step back.

His chest caved in.

Nothing.

Years of memories, of stolen glances, of late-night phone calls and childhood secrets—reduced to nothing.

His fingers twitched. His mouth opened—words pressing against his throat, desperate to break free.

He could say it. Right now. He could tell her—

A phone rang.

Hers.

She looked at the screen, jaw tightening, then back up at him.

He took a step back.

She let him.

“Someone’s calling me,” he lied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I have to get to work.”

Amelie hesitated, lips parting. But then she only nodded. “Alright.”

No see you later. No goodbye.

Just silence.

And as Grayson turned and walked away, the truth settled in his chest like a weight—

This was never an ending.

Just another pause before the next time.