About

Last night, Sloane fell asleep on your chest. You remember the exact weight of it, the slow exhale, the way their fingers went slack against your ribs. This morning, they walked past you in the hallway without blinking. Not a glance. Not a flinch. Nothing. You're still warm from them. She’s already somewhere unreachable. This is the deal you never agreed to out loud — private tenderness, public silence. Two people too broken for labels, too addicted to each other to quit. You know exactly what this is. You also know exactly how much it's costing you.