Finals

You found AJ pacing outside the garage, arms folded, his hoodie pulled up despite the warm night. The old motion light blinked on as you approached, catching in his eyes — serious, tired, and faintly apologetic.

“You came,” he said, voice low.

“You made it sound urgent.”

“It is.” He hesitated. “I didn’t want to do this over the phone. Figured it was better you heard it straight.”

He opened the side door and you stepped inside the familiar space — posters on the walls, instruments leaned in corners, AJ’s sacred den of music and memories. A few chairs were set up, but he didn’t sit. Neither did you.

AJ let out a slow breath. “Darin and Nathan had it out.”

“I figured,” you said. “I got a text from Jojo earlier. Said something about the whole friend group melting down.”

“Yeah. It was bad. Screaming match in the parking lot. Darin stormed off. Nathan’s staying with his sister. Everyone’s shaken.”

“…And they’re blaming me.”

“Mostly Darin,” AJ said, rubbing his neck. “But yeah. Kinda.”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what? For not lying to them? For pointing out what everyone else already saw?”

“It’s not what you said,” AJ replied. “It’s that you said it. Darin sees you as the guy who got out clean. Who figured out his own stuff and found someone like Momo who makes it all work. Meanwhile, he’s stuck in this emotional stalemate with Nathan — angry, confused, and terrified to admit why he cares so much.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “He’s not mad at me. He’s mad that I’m not afraid.”

AJ gave a half-shrug, half-nod. “More or less. You spoke out loud the thing he’s been trying to bury since we were kids.”

You let out a slow sigh. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t. But it happened. And now there’s fallout.”

There was a long silence between you.

Then AJ continued, softer. “Elijah… the truth is, you were right. They’ve been dancing around each other for years. Passive-aggressive jabs, over-the-top loyalty, all that messy closeness that makes people uncomfortable. You just put words to it. And Darin—he’s not ready to hear it. Especially not from someone who already got to the other side.”

You looked down. “So what happens now?”

“I’ve been talking to Nathan. He’s… unraveling a little. He said he’s sorry for lashing out. He’s just scared. He knows what it is between them. He just can’t bring himself to say it first. And Darin—he’s too stubborn to admit he wants to be the one asked.”

You grimaced. “So it’s a game of emotional chicken.”

AJ gave a tired chuckle. “Pretty much.”

“Do I reach out?”

“Maybe not yet. Let things settle. But I wanted you to know what was going on — not from whispers or secondhand texts.”

You nodded slowly. “Thanks, AJ.”

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, “I’m proud of you. You didn’t take the easy way out. You stood up for honesty. That matters. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

You let that sit for a moment. Then:

“I was with Momo when you called.”

AJ raised his eyebrows. “She still stuck to you like dryer lint?”

“She’s basically vibrating with affection and frustration.”

He smirked. “She’s good for you, man.”

“Yeah,” you said, and this time it came out soft, certain. “She really is.”

You both stood there a little longer, the night quiet around you.

Eventually AJ clapped your shoulder. “Go home. Or wherever she is. The world’ll still be messy tomorrow, but maybe you’ll feel a little less tangled up in it.”

You nodded, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks for not letting me get blindsided.”

“Always.”

As you walked back into the night, your phone buzzed again.

Momo: You have 14 minutes left to fulfill your cuddle quota before I combust from unmet intimacy needs.

You smiled.

Time to go home.

As you slammed the car door shut, the night air didn’t cool you off — it only made the anger in your chest tighten like a vice.

The double date, the confrontation, Nathan’s misplaced rage — it all simmered into something you couldn’t ignore anymore.

You gripped the steering wheel and sat for a long second. Then, with a tight exhale, you did the one thing you should’ve done weeks ago.

You called them.

Nathan answered first, voice groggy and suspicious. Darrin joined the call a second later, his tone sharper, more guarded.

“I’m coming to your apartment,” you said, your voice cold, measured. “And you both better be there. Otherwise, I promise — you will not like the consequences.”

Before either could form a word of protest, you hung up.

You drove in silence, jaw clenched, each red light giving you more time to feel the absurdity of it all. Two grown men, dancing around each other like emotionally constipated teenagers, projecting their confusion and fear onto you like it was your fault they couldn’t be honest. Couldn’t be brave.

By the time you reached their place, the pressure had built into something volcanic.

You saw them in the window, watching from the second floor. Good. They had the sense to wait.

You parked the car, sat for a beat, then screamed into the steering wheel — loud, primal, not for anyone else but yourself.

Then, calm.

You stepped out, adjusted your jacket, and walked up to the apartment like you weren’t one misstep from dragging both of them into therapy by force.

They were waiting just inside the doorway — Nathan leaned against the wall like a defiant teenager, Darrin sitting on the couch, arms crossed. Tense.

You closed the door behind you gently, then turned to them with quiet fury in your eyes.

“Do you two have any idea how fucking stupid you are?” you said flatly.

Silence.

You stepped into the room, slow and steady, like a lecture building to its point. “Literally everyone sees it. The bickering, the weird jealousy, the tension you pretend isn’t romantic but is so obviously romantic that even Jojo noticed, and he still thinks Stonehenge was an alien charging dock.”

Nathan opened his mouth, but you shot him a look that froze the words mid-throat.

“If either of you says something about how I’m always the one screwing things up,” you warned, voice rising with steel behind it, “I swear to God, I will lose it.”

They flinched — visibly.

You took another breath, then went on. “You’re both two of the laziest, most terrified ambitious people I’ve ever met. And I get it. It’s easier to hate me for trying than to admit you’re scared to want something. To say it out loud. To want each other.”

Darrin looked away. Nathan finally sat down, defeated.

“But I won’t let you poison our friend group because you don’t know how to handle your feelings. Jojo’s tired. AJ’s exhausted. You’ve made everyone walk on eggshells because you refuse to be honest.”

You looked them dead in the eyes.

“So figure it the fuck out. Now. Or I swear I’ll tell AJ and Jojo to stop showing up for either of you until you do.”

Nathan’s eyes went wide. “He’d never—”

You cut him off with a cool, almost amused look. “Please don’t try me.”

A long pause followed. The room thick with unspoken truths.

You gave them one last look, not angry anymore — just tired. “I’ve said what I came to say.”

You stepped back toward the door, hand on the knob.

“I’m going home. To my girlfriend. Who actually knows how to talk about her feelings.”

And with that, you stepped out into the night.

The air was cooler now. The kind of cool that didn’t boil your blood — it cooled it. Smoothed it out. By the time you got into your car and started the engine, the weight of the whole thing started to lift.

And for the first time in days, you actually smiled — just a little — knowing that someone warm and impossibly soft was waiting for you back at home.

You unlock the door quietly, half-expecting Momo to already be asleep.

She wasn’t.

You stepped inside to the soft glow of the TV on low volume, playing a documentary she absolutely wasn’t watching. Momo sat curled in the middle of your couch like a sulking cat, wrapped in nothing her bare body leaving you ravenous. Her knees were tucked up, a mug of tea balanced precariously on the armrest. When she saw you, she immediately puffed up.

“You’re late,” she said, without a trace of irony.

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s been 90 minutes.”

“That’s late when I’m actively yearning.”

You kicked off your shoes and padded over. “Sorry. It was a heavy conversation.”

Momo scooted over dramatically to make room. “You can tell me. But only after you hold me like I’m a weighted blanket.”

You chuckled and sank onto the couch beside her. She immediately draped herself over you — arms around your waist, legs curling under yours, cheek pressed against your chest like a koala that decided personal space was a myth.

“Better,” she mumbled.

You wrapped your arms around her, letting her exhale all the tension she’d apparently been building up for the past hour and a half.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I missed you,” she said bluntly, then peeked up. “Like, in a weird, feral kind of way. I didn’t like not seeing you this week. And now that you’re here, I need you within three feet of me at all times or I’ll perish.”

You smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Noted.”

Momo wriggled a little deeper into the embrace. “Did you talk to AJ?”

“Yeah. Told me what happened. It’s… complicated, but it helped hearing it.”

She nodded. “I knew you were stewing. I could sense it from across town. You have this whole thing where your emotions get all still and pressurized like a rice cooker.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“You should,” she said, voice soft. “You hold a lot. For other people. For yourself. I just hope I get to be one of the places you let it out.”

That quieted you. And for a moment, you just held her tighter.

“You are,” you said honestly. “You always are.”

A beat passed.

Momo let out a long sigh. “I’m glad.”

Then, ever so quietly:

“I was worried I’d overwhelm you with… this.” She gestured vaguely to the situation — herself, bundled and attached to you like a human magnet.

You grinned. “Momo, you texted me earlier that you wanted to ‘absorb me like an emotional Capri Sun.’”

“I was being poetic.”

“And weird. But also cute.”

She pouted against your shoulder. “Shut up and pet my hair.”

You obliged, running your fingers through her soft locks as she slowly melted against you. The tension eased from both of you — her clinginess meeting your calm like puzzle pieces finally finding their fit.

As the credits of the documentary rolled, Momo mumbled, “Next week, let’s plan to stress-eat and cry together in advance. Like a team.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

And with that, Momo drifted to sleep, snuggled close — not the vixen or the gremlin or the siren — just the girl who finally felt safe enough to want something real.

And you?

You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

You get up after Momo has fallen asleep and carry her to bed. After setting her down she whined, “don’t go!”

“I’m not going anywhere just getting in the bed across from you,” Momo groaned and whined until you scuttled your way into the bed with her which allowed her to envelop you like a snake as she coiled her body around you.

The soft whir of the fan and the weight of Momo curled into your side make for the perfect end to a long, exhausting day. Her cheek rests on your chest, one leg tossed lazily over yours, her breath warm and steady. You run your fingers through her hair, and for a moment, everything feels quiet—normal.

Then comes the knock.

Knock knock knock.

You groan, eyes cracking open.

Knockknockknockknock.

Momo stirs beside you with a groggy sound, burrowing deeper into your side like the blanket might protect her from the rude interruption. You gently slide out from beneath her, replacing yourself with a pillow. She mumbles something half-conscious and clutches it like a lifeline.

You shuffle out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you head to the front door. You’re not even surprised when you open it and see them.

Nathan. Darrin. Both looking vaguely guilty and deeply confused, like they’d just walked out of a failed intervention.

“We need to talk,” Darrin says.

You exhale through your nose, already tired. “No we don’t?”

Nathan nods. “Yes we do. Now.”

You step aside and motion them in. “Fine. But keep your voices down. Momo’s asleep.”

They sit like scolded kids on the couch as you move into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. You can feel their eyes on you, their awkward tension so thick it coats the air.

“So…” Darrin says, squinting toward the hallway, “you and Momo, huh?”

You shoot him a dry look over your shoulder. “Yeah. Pretty sure we’ve covered this.”

Nathan crosses his arms and mutters, “what is she doing here? Like I thought you were going to wait till marriage?”

You lean against the counter and take a long sip before answering. “Really? This is the conversation we are having? Momo and I are taking it slow unlike yall with your relationships.”

Nathan huffs. “You sure sound like a Hallmark card.”

You smirk. “Better that than be the guy who lived with his ex for two years and never told anyone? And still unaware if the kid is yours like dude come on,”

Darrin coughs, trying not to laugh.

“And you,” you say, turning to him, “didn’t you hook up with your study partner for a whole semester and call it a ‘learning experience’?”

“She was really passionate about research,” Darrin mumbles.

You raise your glass like a toast. “Still a virgin, for the record. And still fine with that.”

That’s when the bedroom door creaks open.

You glance over just in time to see Momo emerge—half-asleep, hair tousled, oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder, face caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion. She blinks once, twice, then focuses in on the couch.

She stares at Nathan and Darrin like a cat assessing danger. No words. Just pure, narrowed, half-lidded judgment.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she pads forward on bare feet and walks right up to you. Her arms circle your waist slowly but firmly, chin resting against your chest.

She glares at them over your shoulder like she’s calculating how many seconds it would take to rip them apart.

You feel her weight press into you protectively.

“If you’re here to start something,” she says softly, voice like velvet over steel, “you’re gonna regret it.”

Nathan blinks. “Momo I presume. Nice to meet you,”

She tilts her head. Her eyes narrow further. She’s still not blinking.

“She’s sleep-defensive,” you murmur, running a calming hand down her back. “Give her a second.”

“You’re doing the protector thing again,” you whisper.

“I am protecting you,” she says without looking away from them. “You’d let them say dumb things if I wasn’t here.”

“I am right here,” Darrin says gently.

“I have seen the messages you sent to him. I said what I said,” Momo deadpans.

You chuckle, kissing her temple softly. “Thanks, direwolf. Now go back to bed. I’ll only be a minute,”

“You’re welcome, soft dragon, but no” she mumbles, still glaring.

She steps between you and the couch, arms folded now, clearly drawing a line in the sand.

Nathan stares. “Is she always like this?”

You sigh. “Only when she’s interrupted from cuddles by emotional chaos at one in the morning.”

Darrin gestures toward her. “It’s kinda… intense.”

“Yes she is but it works for me. Also in case you are feeling froggy. She bites,” you say casually. “Not even in a fun way.”

Momo lifts her hand and snaps her teeth together. The sound is crisp and threatening.

Nathan and Darrin flinch, both looking appropriately nervous now.

You lean forward, placing a hand gently on Momo’s arm. “I’ve got this, babe.”

Her eyes stay locked on them, but she slowly relaxes. “You’ve got five minutes,” she says coolly, “then I’m dragging him back to bed.”

And with that, she turns and pads back into the room without another word.

You glance at your friends. “Okay. Talk fast. Or she will come back.”

Nathan and Darrin exchange a look — a wordless confirmation between two people who think they’ve figured something out. You know that look. You’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s the prelude to nonsense dressed up as wisdom.

“We came to tell you that you need to back off,” Nathan says, puffed up like this is an intervention. “We’ve got this.”

You stare at him, then at Darrin.

“That’s it?” you ask, blinking.

Nathan scowls. “What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You’ve been up in our business for weeks now. And clearly…” he pauses, eyes drifting toward the hallway Momo disappeared into, “you’re not exactly living right with God.”

You sigh — a deep, exhausted, bone-level sigh — then roll your eyes.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” you say flatly.

They both look stunned, like the words came out of nowhere.

“Wait—what?” Darrin stammers.

“I said get. The fuck. Out of my home.” You enunciate every syllable. “Take this sanctimonious, half-baked bullshit and leave. Before I say something I’ll regret — or worse, something you will.”

Nathan throws his hands up, voice rising. “See? This is why no one stays with you, Elijah. You escalate everything. You push people away and then act surprised.”

You blink — once, twice, three times. Then you take ten slow, measured breaths, counting each one.

When your eyes open again, your voice is calm. Too calm.

“Okay. Fuck it. I guess we’re doing this now.”

They freeze. You step forward, arms crossed.

“You two are imprecise with your words. You say things that sound wise, but are really vague projections of your own unresolved crap. And when someone pushes back, you play confused or cry victim.”

You point to Nathan. “You weaponize your anxiety and bipolar tendencies without ever naming them. You think volatility equals depth, when really it’s just a lack of discipline.”

Then to Darrin. “You disappear for weeks at a time, isolate, and come back expecting everyone to act like nothing happened. You say you’re just introverted — but it’s not that. It’s that you don’t take emotional responsibility for anything. You avoid. You deflect. And then you get mad when people expect more from you. You bring out the worst in each other,”

Darrin’s jaw tightens. “Oh really? And how do we make each other worse?”

You chuckle without humor. “Nathan drags you into drama and games you claim to hate, but you stay because it gives you entertainment. And when I pointed that out, you defended it —and you don’t even like playing — just so Nathan wouldn’t feel called out.”

Nathan tries to interject, “That’s one—”

“You broke up with your last girlfriend because Douglas convinced you I was trying to steal her.” You don’t yell. You don’t raise your voice. But the weight of your words crushes the room. “I was dating someone else at the time. You never apologized to her. You never apologized to me. You just ghosted and let your paranoia win.”

They’re both silent. Finally.

You step back, shaking your head.

“You act superior, like you’re the grown-ups in the room, but your lives are stitched together with duct tape, caffeine, and delusion. So yeah — excuse me for not entertaining a purity lecture from two men who’ve never once cleaned up their own emotional messes.”

You open the door.

“I’m done talking. Get out.”

Darrin starts, “We’re not done—”

Before he finishes, you march over, scoop him up like a sack of potatoes, and fireman-carry him to the door.

“Jesus Christ!” he yells as you open it.

You drop him just outside the threshold. He stumbles, stunned.

You turn back. Nathan is wide-eyed.

“I got you, boss,” he says quickly, already backing away, hands raised in surrender.

He slips out without another word.

You shut the door behind them and lean your head against it for a second.

Then you exhale.

You don’t realize how hard your shoulders are clenched until the door clicks shut behind them. The silence afterward feels surgical — like someone cut the tension out of the room with a scalpel and left nothing but the sting behind.

You lean your forehead against the door. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then you hear her voice behind you.

“Are you okay?”

It’s soft, sleepy, but edged with worry.

You turn. Momo stands in the hallway, half-wrapped in your blanket, hair slightly mussed from the pillow, one eye squinting against the hallway light. She looks like she just woke up, but you know from the tight grip she has on the blanket and the way she’s planted herself in the center of the hallway that she’d been listening.

You sigh. “Sorry. I tried to keep it down.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she says, stepping closer. “I knew something was up the moment they showed up unannounced.”

You give a tired smile. “I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

She tilts her head. “Elijah… I live here half the time. You cook for me. You let me take over your couch with all my crap. You hold me when I spiral. You think I don’t want to be here when you’re the one spiraling?”

You look down, ashamed. “It was just dumb drama. You didn’t need to hear all that.”

Momo takes one more step forward, close enough now to touch. And she does — fingers trailing across your arm until she’s curled into your side, cheek against your chest. You feel her exhale.

“First of all, that was not dumb drama. That was two grown men trying to unload their unresolved baggage onto you because you have the nerve to have boundaries.”

You chuckle. “You overheard all of it, huh?”

She hums. “Mmm-hmm. I also heard you say some pretty sharp things. Real scalpel energy. I was proud.”

You shake your head. “It’s just… exhausting, you know? The way they look at me like I’m the bad guy for not letting them project their chaos onto me.”

Momo pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“They don’t get it. You’re not trying to be ‘better than them.’ You’re trying to be better than you used to be. And people who aren’t doing that? They’ll always take it personally.”

You look at her. Really look at her. The way her eyes glint in the dark. The calmness in her tone. The affection that’s always just there, like she doesn’t have to think about it — like it’s natural.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur.

Momo snorts. “You absolutely don’t. But you’re lucky I have bad taste.”

You laugh for the first time all night. She smiles wider, presses a kiss to your collarbone.

“You wanna talk more about it?” she asks. “Or you wanna eat ice cream straight out of the tub while I try to get you to watch the dumb reality show I’m into this week?”

You glance toward the couch, then back at her.

“Ice cream,” you say. “But only if I get to sit on your side of the couch.”

Momo squints. “You just want the good blanket.”

“Damn right.”

She slips her hand into yours. “Fine. But I’m choosing the flavor. And you’re watching at least one episode of Naked Island Retreat.”

“Deal.”

As she pulls you toward the living room, you realize something — the storm is outside. Whatever comes tomorrow, this is the safe place. Momo. Her warmth. Her messy, ridiculous, too-honest love.

And tonight, that’s enough.

You’re halfway through your second spoonful of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when Momo says, “You ever think about just… disappearing for a little while?”

You glance over. She’s curled up sideways on the couch, feet under your thigh, blanket draped over both of you like a truce flag. Her head rests on a pillow she smuggled over from your bed, one hand absentmindedly swirling her spoon in the tub she commandeered.

“Disappearing?” you echo.

She nods, eyes still on the muted TV, where some shirtless guy on Naked Island Retreat is crying because someone used his coconut shampoo.

“Yeah. Like… not forever. Just enough to reset your brain. To stop pretending things don’t bother you. To stop trying to be strong for everyone else.”

You pause, the air heavy in that soft way where only the truth can survive.

“Every day,” you admit.

She shifts then, resting her ice cream on the coffee table and snuggling into your side like she’s trying to merge with you. “I figured.”

You set your own ice cream down. Gently brush some of her hair back from her face. “What about you? What would disappearing look like for you?”

“Somewhere warm. Ocean air. No pressure. No makeup. No expectations.” She looks up at you with sleepy eyes and a tiny grin. “Just me. And you. And maybe a hammock where we’d forget what time it is.”

You smile. “That’s weirdly specific.”

“I fantasize about soft things when life gets hard,” she murmurs. “Also, I have a very clear Pinterest board.”

You chuckle. “I wanna see that sometime.”

She shrugs. “Maybe I’ll show you. If you survive more of this show without complaining.”

You glance at the TV. The contestants are now doing something inexplicably romantic with tree bark.

“…Hard maybe.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the space between your ribs like sunlight through a cracked window. She’s not being seductive. She’s not playing the vixen. But in this moment — hoodie on, mascara slightly smudged, curled around you like she was made for your side — you feel the tension that’s been in your chest for weeks finally melt.

Her voice softens again. “Elijah… I heard what you said earlier. About still being a virgin.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“I’m not bringing it up to make it weird,” she assures you quickly. “I just… I want you to know that I don’t think that makes you broken. Or behind. Or anything else people might try to label it.”

You nod. “I appreciate that.”

“I don’t need you to rush,” she adds, more quiet now. “I don’t need you to perform. I just need you to be real. And you’re doing that. Every single day. Even when it’s hard.”

You breathe in. The moment feels sacred, like speaking too loud would pop it like a bubble.

“Thank you,” you say. It feels too small for what you want to express, but she seems to understand.

She presses a kiss to your chest, then sighs. “We should move to bed before I pass out and wake up with couch-neck.”

You chuckle. “Good call.”

You both stand and shuffle toward the bedroom, trading yawns. You pull back the blankets while Momo tosses all the throw pillows off the bed like a tiny, tired goblin. When you finally lie down, she immediately presses herself against your side, an arm draped over your stomach.

“Don’t let the dumb boys mess with your head,” she mumbles into your shirt. “They don’t get to have you the way I do.”

You stroke her hair. “They don’t.”

“Good.” A pause. “Now sleep.”

And you do — faster than you have in weeks — wrapped in the kind of quiet that feels earned, not given.

The next morning you are woken feeling something soft on your face only to realize that it’s Momo Kissing you.

“Someone is feeling good,” you say jokingly and Momo grabs your face.

“I’ve been needing you and I got you,” before kissing you again. Momo lifted up her (your top) and begins kissing you with more fire. As her lips reach your collar she puts your hands on her breasts and begins grinding on your crotch. You groan as does feeling her heat.

She breaks a kiss then says, “Are you ready?” You groan and then say

“Not yet Momo” Momo smiled then said,

“Well then I’ll be waiting,” before giving one last good grind on your pelvis before getting up and leaving.

The rest of the weekend follows this pattern of her alternating between soft and sultry leaving you on edge, but a good one.

The lecture wraps with scattered claps, and you step away from the podium, mentally ticking through how well you stuck to your outline. It wasn’t your best delivery — a little meandering near the middle — but the students stayed engaged, and a few even looked up from their phones. You’ll take the win.

You grab your water bottle, gather your notes, and sling your messenger bag over your shoulder when your phone buzzes. Unknown number. Normally you’d ignore it, but something makes you answer.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then a voice you haven’t heard in a while — soft, deliberate, like she’s testing the air between you.

“Elijah? It’s Grace.”

You stop in your tracks halfway to the door.

“…Hey. Wow. Uh—hey.”

She gives a small exhale that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Sorry. I know it’s random. I just—Nathan called me. Today. Out of nowhere.”

You feel your spine straighten slightly.

“He…apologized,” she says, still in disbelief. “Like, a real apology. Not one of those ‘I’m sorry you feel that way’ things.”

You lean against the wall of the empty hallway, adjusting your grip on your bag. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Right?” she says. “He said he’s been doing some thinking. That someone called him out and made him realize how unfair he’d been. That I didn’t deserve what he put on me. That I didn’t do anything wrong.”

She pauses, as if waiting for you to fill in the silence. You don’t. You let her have the space.

“I guess I’m calling because… well, you know how long I waited to hear that. But now that I have, I’m just… confused.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

“I don’t know what to do with it. Like, part of me wants to believe he’s changed. Another part of me thinks it doesn’t matter anymore. But I don’t want to be bitter, Elijah. I’m just tired.”

You glance out the window. It’s a warm day, but the clouds hang low, like they’re trying to settle something with the sun.

“I think,” you say carefully, “you should take the apology in stride. Let it be what it is — a sign of growth. For him. But it doesn’t mean you owe him anything. Closure isn’t a contract.”

She’s quiet, listening.

“You’re allowed to keep your boundaries. You’re allowed to say, ‘Thank you… and I’m still done.’ Forgiveness and re-entry aren’t the same thing.”

She lets out a small breath, like she’s been waiting for permission to believe that.

“Thanks,” she says. “You always had this… clarity thing going. Like a lighthouse. Or a buzzy fridge that hums a truth you didn’t want to hear.”

You chuckle. “A fridge is a new one.”

She laughs too, and it feels like a small healing.

“Well,” she says, “I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say… thanks. For being one of the people who sees through the bullshit.”

“Anytime, Grace.”

“Take care, Elijah.”

“You too.”

She hangs up. You slide your phone back into your pocket, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel the quiet pride of having helped someone breathe a little easier — even if it came from cleaning up someone else’s mess.

The apartment is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the stove clock and the flickering light from the muted TV. You’re on the couch, sunk into the cushions with a blanket half-tangled around your legs and Momo’s head resting on your chest, her fingers tracing idle shapes along your arm.

She doesn’t say anything at first — just lets the silence stretch, the two of you breathing in the kind of comfort that only comes after a long day. Her body is warm, grounding. She smells like peach shampoo and laundry detergent. Familiar. Safe.

But she always knows.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs.

You don’t look down at her. Just keep staring at the closed captions dancing across the bottom of the screen.

“Had a phone call,” you say.

“Bad?”

“No,” you sigh. “Just… surprising. Nathan’s ex called me.”

Momo slowly tilts her head up, resting her chin on your chest. “Why?”

“She wanted to know what his apology meant. If it was real. What she should do with it.”

Momo blinks. “He apologized?”

“Apparently.”

She whistles, then props her chin on your sternum like a lazy cat. “I’m guessing that apology has you written all over it.”

You shrug. “I told him the truth. He took it how he took it.”

She studies your face in the low light. “But it’s sitting heavy.”

You hesitate. Then nod.

“I told her she didn’t owe him anything. That she could accept the apology and still keep her distance. And she… sounded relieved. Grateful. Like someone had lifted a weight she didn’t even know she was carrying.”

Momo’s eyes soften. “That’s a good thing, Elijah.”

“I know,” you say quietly. “It’s just weird, being the one people come to. Sometimes I feel like I’m just… handing out life jackets while I’m still trying to keep my own head above water.”

She leans up, kissing your jaw gently. “You’re better at swimming than you think.”

You let out a small laugh. “You’re biased.”

“I’m devoted,” she says dramatically, curling her fingers around your shirt. “Which is better than biased. You forget, I’m also a gremlin. I know how to spot a drowning man pretending he’s fine.”

You turn your head to look at her. “Is that what I’m doing?”

Momo shrugs with a teasing smirk. “No. But it sounded cool. You’re doing fine. Just… human fine. The kind with dents.”

You wrap your arm tighter around her. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” She kisses your chest lightly. “Now stop brooding and come to bed. You were my weighted blanket last week. I plan to return the favor.”

“You’re like ninety-eight pounds.”

“Yeah, but my emotional gravity is crushing.”

You let her pull you up off the couch, both of you stumbling toward the bedroom in sleepy half-laughter. And even though the day still sits behind your ribs, you feel lighter than you did before.

She was right. You’re dented, not broken.

And for now — for tonight — that’s more than enough.

The next evening you and Momo went to Jihyo’s apartment for dinner as a sort of evaluation.

The house is warm, louder than you’re used to, filled with laughter, music, and the unmistakable energy of women who have danced through hell together and come out with matching smiles and inside jokes. Jihyo’s place is sleek but homey — framed tour posters, twinkle lights, the smell of too many dishes being cooked at once.

You’re sitting at the far end of the dining table, with Momo pressed to your side like she’s trying to psychically shield you from the intensity of the scrutiny coming from every direction. You feel like a contestant on a cooking show… and you are the main course.

“So,” Dahyun starts, grinning. “Elijah. That’s a biblical name.”

You nod. “Yep. Parents were very… theme-forward.”

Sana leans forward, sipping wine. “And what’s your biggest flaw?”

Momo groans, “Unnie—”

“It’s a valid question!”

“I overthink things,” you say, trying to play it off.

Jihyo eyes you like a military general. “What do you want from Momo?”

The table quiets slightly. Momo tenses beside you.

You look straight at Jihyo. “Whatever she’s willing to give.”

Mina, quiet until now, tilts her head with the kind of thoughtful smile that carries both approval and warning. “Good answer.”

The night continues in a whirl of food and probing conversation. At one point, Chaeyoung and Tzuyu pull Momo into the kitchen, and you’re left with the rest of the troupe who volley you with rapid-fire questions ranging from politics to pop culture to how many squats you can do without crying.

But somehow… it’s not overwhelming. It’s weirdly reassuring. Like being vetted by secret agents in sweatpants.

Eventually, the night winds down. Goodbye hugs, promises to meet again. Jihyo shoots you a final glance that seems to say, I’m watching you — but with a smile.

⸻

Back at your apartment, Momo’s hair is damp from a quick shower and she’s wearing one of your hoodies, her knees tucked under her chin on your couch.

“They like you,” she says. “Which is rare. Sana didn’t try to flirt, and Dahyun didn’t try to fake a murder. That’s progress.”

You smile as you collapse beside her. “I’ll take that as a glowing endorsement.”

She goes quiet for a second.

“They’re planning a tour,” she says finally. “Three months. Asia and Europe mostly. It’s not official yet, but they wanted to know if I’d be in.”

You glance over at her. “And?”

“I want to. I miss the stage. I miss… that version of me.”

You nod, letting the silence speak for you for a beat. Then, “We’ll make it work.”

She blinks at you. “You mean like, long distance?”

“I mean like, I’ll come with you.”

She lets out a surprised laugh. “You can’t just… leave. You’re a professor.”

You turn your head toward her, calm. “I can leave anytime. I don’t need the job. This was all a bet.”

She laughs again — but it’s more hesitant this time. “Wait… what?”

You keep your eyes on hers. “The job. The whole academic path. I took it because someone told me I couldn’t do it. That I wasn’t built for structure. So I proved them wrong. I got the degrees. I published the papers. I taught the classes.”

Her face slowly falls into something unreadable.

“And now?”

You shrug. “I’ve proven my point. What I want now is freedom. Choice. You.”

She’s silent, staring at you like she’s trying to recalibrate her entire understanding of who you are. Finally, she whispers, “You were serious.”

“Yeah.”

“…Holy shit,” she says, her voice barely audible. Then softer still: “You’d really come with me?”

You reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. “Anywhere you go.”

She leans forward and kisses you — not fiercely, not hungrily, but with the kind of trembling tenderness that comes when someone realizes you’re offering them something they’ve never been offered before.

Then, quietly, she says, “You better not make me cry right before I pack.”

You smile. “Then pack quickly.”

It’s the last day of the semester. The walls of your office are nearly bare now — the shelves once filled with annotated texts and stress snacks are empty, the desk cleared except for one final stack of papers, and a check.

AJ is standing across from you with an expression that somehow balances annoyance, pride, and deep resignation. He’s holding the check out like it personally offends him, but you can tell by the way he’s fidgeting with the envelope that he’s already accepted the loss.

“You really made me do it,” he mutters. “I mean, the whole department thought you’d crash and burn. Hell, I thought you’d crash and burn.”

You take the check and glance at it. It’s everything he promised: the payout for the bet. A full reimbursement for your doctorate program and every dollar spent getting you accredited and legally certified to teach.

You slip it into your coat pocket without ceremony. “I told you I’d survive.”

AJ scoffs. “You barely survived.”

You smirk. “Still counts.”

He groans and rubs his forehead. “You’re leaving to follow a pop star around the globe. This is what you’re doing with your elite education?”

You shrug. “I survived teaching. I can do anything.”

AJ stares at you… and then barks out a laugh. The kind of laugh that says he’s genuinely impressed but also deeply annoyed by it.

“I hate how much sense that makes.”

He walks around the desk and pulls you in for one of those short, aggressive, manly hugs that’s half back-pat, half unspoken emotion.

“Be careful out there,” he says into your shoulder.

You nod. “I will.”

“You ever need to come back—”

“Don’t worry,” you cut in. “If academia ever calls again, I’ll let it go to voicemail.”

He laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re such a little shit.”

As you step out into the hallway, Momo is leaning against the far wall, wearing your hoodie over bike shorts, scrolling through a list of rehearsal schedules on her phone. She glances up and beams when she sees you.

“Did he pay up?”

You pat your pocket. “Like a man watching his ex get married.”

Momo slides her arm around your waist. “Ready to go?”

You take one last look at the department office behind you. The lecture halls. The lockers covered in flyers. The ghosts of debates and red ink.

“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s go see the world.”

She squeezes your hand as you walk off together — past the bulletin boards, past the final grades, past the old life you’d outgrown — and into whatever comes next.

The apartment is chaos, in that soft, controlled way only people in love can pull off.

Suitcases half-zipped. Clothes folded neatly… then hastily shoved to make room for last-minute “essentials.” Momo is kneeling by the couch, trying to fit an entire makeup case into a bag that was already declared full two hours ago. You’re crouched over your vinyl collection, trying to justify bringing more than three records.

“This one’s for late-night rehearsals,” you say, holding up a jazz album.

“You’re bringing a record player?” she calls out.

“No. But it’s the principle.”

She laughs, that breathy kind of tired-happy laugh that always makes your chest ache in the good way. “You’re ridiculous.”

There’s a knock at the door. Three sharp taps.

You glance at Momo. She shrugs.

You open the door.

Darin and Nathan stand there. Both of them… weirdly put together. Hair combed. Matching grimaces of awkward sincerity. Nathan’s holding what looks like a bakery box. Darin has a six-pack of some indie root beer.

You lean on the doorframe.

“Tour starts tomorrow,” you say dryly. “Little late for airport snacks.”

Nathan opens his mouth, then closes it again. Darin nudges him with his elbow.

“We, uh…” Nathan tries again. “We came to say goodbye. And, um. Thanks.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“For?” you ask.

Darin rubs the back of his neck. “For not giving up on us. For yelling when we needed to be yelled at. And for being right, even when we didn’t want you to be.”

Nathan mutters, “Especially that last part. God, you’re so annoying when you’re right.”

You step aside and let them in. They glance around at the luggage explosion and vinyl stacks.

“You really leaving all this?” Darin asks.

You nod. “I survived teaching. The rest is easy.”

Nathan grins. “Still milking that line, huh?”

Momo appears from the hallway wearing one of your oversized tees and no makeup, her hair in a bun, cheeks slightly flushed from wrestling her suitcase.

“Oh,” she says, spotting the guests. “We have visitors?”

Nathan fumbles to say hi, and Darin just waves awkwardly. There’s a beat of silence.

Then Momo walks right over and wordlessly wedges herself between you and them. Not hostile — just deliberate. Her hand finds yours. Her body leans in just enough to be territorial without being confrontational.

“You two behave,” she says with a teasing grin, but her tone has edge.

Nathan raises his hands. “We’re cool. Promise.”

Darin glances between you and Momo, then nods. “Take care of each other.”

Momo smiles, but it’s small. “Always.”

The moment stretches — this strange truce of broken pride and newfound peace.

They leave soon after. You close the door gently, the latch clicking like the end of a chapter.

Momo exhales and flops onto the couch. “Think that was the closest we’ll ever get to an apology from them?”

“Definitely,” you say, sitting beside her.

She leans her head on your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed.

“Think we’ll be okay out there?” she murmurs.

you shrug before kissing her “ I don’t think it really matters,” you say after breaking the kiss