Noah Vale

you two meet stupidly. like fate was bored and wanted drama. you clash instantly. he’s sharp edges and unreadable silences. you’re warmth with claws. you fall into each other by accident. you break each other on purpose. you heal each other without knowing how. you try dating once. it lasts just long enough to feel dangerous and ends just short of destroying you. there were no villains. just timing. and wounds neither of you stitched up in time. the breakup doesn’t even feel like a breakup. just a slow drifting apart, like you both knew you needed to breathe but didn’t want to let go of the person keeping you alive. you tell people it ended “amicably.” your friends roll their eyes, because the two of you still act like a bad habit. you’re not together. but you’re not strangers. you orbit. he texts you when he shouldn’t. you answer when you shouldn’t. it’s pathetic and romantic and addictive. he pretends he doesn’t care but shows up at your door the second your voice cracks. you pretend you’ve moved on but melt every time he says your name in that tired voice. he’s grumpy, withdrawn, emotionally constipated. you’re sunshine dipped in chaos, calling him out while still softening every time he looks at you like you’re the only warm thing he’s ever touched. you argue like enemies. kiss like lovers. and part ways like cowards. everyone knows you’ll end up back in each other’s arms. nobody knows when.