Our senior trip was supposed to end with a sunrise.

Five of us had rented an offseason beach house on the outer island, promising we’d be out the door by four in the morning to hike up to the coastal bluffs.

I sat waiting on the living room sofa in the pitch dark for half an hour. When I finally clicked on my flashlight and walked down the hall, the bedrooms were wide open.

Lauren’s bed was unmade. Sally and Piper’s room was already stripped bare. They had left without me. I called an Uber to the summit overlook alone.

By the time the cab dropped me off at the trailhead, the gray edge of dawn was bleeding into the mist. A few yards away, near the scenic railing, I spotted them.

The three girls were huddled around Finn, our frail, wideeyed underclassman.

Lauren was busy wrapping her own spare windbreaker around his trembling shoulders, while Sally and Piper held up their phones, coaching them through backlit silhouettes against the pink horizon.

None of them noticed me standing ten feet back in the gravel. I looked down and unlocked my phone.

Lauren had posted to her Instagram story five minutes earlier: "Youth at its best." The photo was four hands pressed together against the morning sky, flashing peace signs.

Mine wasn't there. A dull ache settled behind my ribs, familiar and quiet.

I thought about the drugstore run before we caught the ferry, when they bought two buyonegetone sunscreen packs—four bottles for four people—completely forgetting I blister in direct sun.

I thought about the speedboat ride out, how the four of them slid naturally into the cushioned back rows, leaving me to take the jarring, spraydrenched bench at the bow.

They hadn't done it out of malice. They were just used to my presence, and just as used to overlooking it.

When the sun finally broke the rim of the ocean, spilling blinding gold across the water, I didn't step forward to say hello.

I turned around, walked down the trail to the harbor, and bought a oneway ferry ticket back to the mainland.

I left them behind in the ocean mist. ... 1 "Excuse me, when’s the next ferry back to the mainland?" The woman behind the ticket counter flipped through her ledger with a bored sigh. "Sixforty speedboat.

Three seats left." "One, please." My phone buzzed in my palm. The group thread. Sally had sent a photo: "The sunrise is unreal! Dean, where are you?

Get up here!" In the photo, Finn leaned against the rustic timber railing, the sea breeze catching his oversized linen shirt, Lauren’s dark green windbreaker draped securely over his frame.

Piper replied immediately: "Is Dean still passed out? Man is an absolute bear in the morning lmao." No one had called my number. No one had turned around to look for me.

Their way of noticing I was gone was to post their photos first, bask in the comments, and then casually drop a line in the chat as an afterthought.

I slipped the paper ticket into my pocket. I didn't reply. The wind off the bay was biting when I walked out onto the wooden dock.

My screen lit up again—a direct text from Lauren. "Lauren: You sick or something? Why didn't you show up?" The time stamp read 6:12 a.m. They had snuck out at four.

It had taken her over two hours to wonder where I was. I typed a few sentences, stared at them, and deleted every single one.

I sent back three words: "Down by the dock." Her reply was instant. "The dock?

What are you doing down there?" "Watching the boats." "Lauren: Stop being weird and get your ass back here. We're heading to the bakery for breakfast.

Grab a hot oat milk for Finn on your way back, his stomach is flaring up again." "Grab a hot oat milk for Finn." Not "have you eaten yet?" Not "we'll come grab you." Just an errand for Finn.

I stared at the glowing font until the screen went dark. My thumb hovered, pulled back, and then tapped out the only response I had left in me. "Okay." Habit is a terrifying thing.

I had spent two years answering her with "okay". There was a small convenience market across from the slip.

I bought the carton of hot milk, stepped back into the brisk morning air, and stood there holding the heat against my fingers. 6:28 a.m.

The twinengine ferry hummed against the pilings, its crew unhooking the ropes to let the morning commuters onboard. The milk was still warm.

I set the cup down carefully on an empty weathered bench, turned, and walked toward the gangway.

The deckhand scanned my barcode and barked through his megaphone, "Sixforty to the mainland boarding now! Move down the cabin, folks!" I found a window seat in the very last row.

Nobody contested the space. Nobody leaned over my shoulder. I was completely alone. My phone rang. Sally. "Hey, Dean, where are you?

Where's the milk?" "Left it on the dock bench," I said, voice flat. "Grab it yourselves." "Aren't you coming back to eat?" "No." "Well, what are you doing?" Below the deck, the diesel engines roared to life, churning the green water into white foam. "Dean?

What's that noise?" "Nothing. Bad reception." I ended the call and switched the phone to airplane mode.

As the ferry pulled away from the harbor, carving a widening wake through the bay, I looked back at the bluffs.

The sun was high now, casting long, sharp shadows across the overlook. The figures near the railing had shrunk into tiny, indistinct silhouettes against the sky.

I couldn't tell who was who anymore. To be honest, I hadn't been able to tell for a very long time. The crossing took forty minutes.

I grabbed the duffel bag I’d quietly packed the night before and walked out of the terminal.

On the way out to the island two days ago, our five bags had been piled in a messy mound. Lauren had hoisted Finn’s duffel and camera bag; Sally had wheeled his suitcase.

Piper had glanced back at me once, muttering, "Wow, you pack light." Just that single glance. That was the only moment of the entire vacation anyone had acknowledged my existence.

An express coach to the airport was idling outside the terminal gates. I had already booked a 2:00 p.m. flight home before this trip even started. Back to campus. Pack up my room.

Then board a flight to Melbourne in three days. The corporate offer letter had arrived in my inbox two weeks ago. I hadn't told a soul.

Not because I was playing games or keeping secrets, but because whenever I tried to speak, no one was listening anyway.

The afternoon the offer came through, I had typed into our group chat: "Hey guys, I have some huge news I want to share with everyone." Sally had immediately posted three photos of the artisanal matcha cake Finn had baked from scratch.

Piper had replied with paragraphlong praises for Finn’s hidden talents. Lauren had sent a string of clapping emojis for Finn.

My message was pushed up the screen, drowned out, and vanished. Not one person asked what my good news was. So I never mentioned it again. The airport shuttle was nearly empty.

I sat by the window, watching the coastal pine trees blur past, and toggled airplane mode off.

Instantly, my phone convulsed in my hand, a machinegun rattle of notifications. "Lauren: Where did you go?" "Lauren: Why aren't you picking up?" "Lauren: Dean, what is wrong with you?

Everyone is sitting here waiting for you to eat." "Sally: Dean, you left the milk on an outdoor bench??? Where are you???" "Piper: Did you actually leave the island?

Are you serious right now?" In the group chat, there was an audio message from Finn.

I tapped it and held the speaker to my ear. "Is Dean mad at me?" his soft, breathy voice whispered, tinged with a delicate tremor. "Is it because we didn't wake him up for the sunrise?

It’s completely my fault... I told Sally last night I was scared of the dark trails and asked her to come with me, and then everyone came along...

Please don't be mad at them, Dean." Petulant. Fragile. Needy. "He" was scared of the dark, so Sally held his hand. Lauren went with him. Piper followed behind. What about me?

Freshman year, during movein week, an unexpected storm knocked out the power grid across campus. The dormitories were pitchblack, suffocating, and unfamiliar.

I had called Lauren, my pulse racing, confessing that darkness made my chest seize up. She had sighed into the receiver: "Dean, you're an adult.

Stop acting like a child." Then she hung up. I had never told another human being that I was afraid of the dark.

In the chat, Sally was already coddling him: "It has nothing to do with you, Finn.

Dean just woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Piper chimed in: "Yeah, he pulls this sulking routine all the time.

Don't take it to heart." Lauren hadn't said anything in the group, but my direct messages buzzed again. "Lauren: If you're pissed off, come back and talk about it like an adult.

Pulling this disappearing act is making it awkward for everyone." "Making it awkward for everyone." Not "are you hurt?" Not "where are you, I'll come find you." Just "you're embarrassing us." I exited our thread, pulled up the airline app, and doublechecked my afternoon boarding pass.

Outside the bus window, the shimmering coastline dropped away, replaced by the drab concrete of the highway. My screen lit up again with Lauren’s name. An incoming call.

I watched the letters dance across the glass for thirty seconds. On the seventh ring, I tapped the volume rocker, muttering it into silence.

The driver cracked his vent, letting in a draft of salt and exhaust that smelled faintly like dried tears. "Excuse me, how much longer to the airport?" I called toward the front. "About forty minutes, kid." "Thanks." Before the screen went dark, Lauren’s final text flashed up. "Lauren: Fine.

Take your little space if you need it. We’ll talk when you get back tonight." "Tonight." She genuinely believed I’d come crawling back by nightfall. She had always believed that.

Because after every silent slight, after every forgotten dinner, I had always swallowed it down, smiled, and quietly taken my place behind them again. "I’m not coming back," I whispered into the empty cabin.

The hum of the bus engine swallowed the words whole.

Nobody was there to hear them anyway. 2 "One economy ticket, two o’clock flight." The checkin agent reviewed my ID and tapped her screen. "No checked baggage today, Mr.

Hall?" "Just the carryon and the backpack." That was the sum total of everything I was taking from this life.

Once through security, I found an empty gate in the corner of the concourse. I turned my phone to Do Not Disturb, setting it so only starred contacts could ring through.

My favorites list was empty. No Lauren. No Sally. No Piper. They used to be there, right at the top.

A month ago, during a latenight decluttering of my phone, I had quietly unstarred every single one. That was the night I asked Lauren if we could grab dinner together that weekend.

She told me she was busy helping Finn move his recording gear into his new dorm. I told her I could come help carry boxes. She replied, "We have enough hands.

You don't need to come." I remembered setting my phone face down on my desk, staring at the empty wall, and feeling profoundly ridiculous.

What kind of person pins someone to their favorites who never bothers to reach out first?

The overhead speakers crackled, reciting flight numbers into the cold, recycled air of the terminal. I pulled my windbreaker tighter around my shoulders.

While packing this morning, I realized I didn't own a single piece of Lauren’s clothing. In two years of dating, she had never once thought to bring an extra layer for me.

Yet in the three months since Finn showed up, her tote bag was perpetually stuffed with spares—hoodies, flannels, windbreakers—ready to be draped over his fragile shoulders the second the temperature dipped below sixty.

Sally always claimed Finn had poor circulation. Piper said he caught chills too easily and needed looking after.

Lauren never said anything; she just held the jacket open, watched him slip his arms into the sleeves, and zipped it up before walking beside him. What about me?

Sophomore year, during the first blizzard of December, the five of us walked across town for latenight ramen.

I was wearing only a thin knit sweater, teeth chattering so hard they hurt. Sally had looked at me sideways. "Why didn't you dress warmer?" Piper laughed. "Dean's built like a tank.

He never feels the cold." Lauren had both hands shoved into her pockets, walking ten paces ahead, never once glancing back.

I jogged up to catch her, tugging lightly on her elbow. "Do you have that spare fleece in your bag?

Can I borrow it?" Her brows pinched together in an irritated knot. "Whose fault is it you didn't check the weather app before leaving the house?" Sally smoothed it over with a dismissive wave. "Come on, let's just hurry up, the line's going to be out the door." That night, I sat right by the entrance.

Every time someone opened the door, an icy draft hammered into my spine. Not a single person offered to swap seats with me.

After that winter, I learned to always carry an extra jacket. Not because I hated the cold. Because I finally understood that no one was ever going to stand between me and the wind.

My phone vibrated with a text from an unsaved number. "Unknown: Dean, it's Finn. Sally gave me your number. Are you mad about this morning? I swear I didn't mean to mess things up.

I told them we should wake you up, but Lauren said you were sleeping so deeply and she didn't want to disturb you.

Please don't be angry with them, okay?" "Lauren said I was sleeping deeply." She knew damn well I was an extraordinarily light sleeper.

In two years of sharing a bed, I woke up every single time she shifted beneath the sheets. She didn't think I was asleep. She just didn't want me there.

Whenever Finn was around, I was the odd piece in a fourperson puzzle. Leaving me behind made the numbers clean.

Four people fit comfortably in an Uber; four people split a booth at a diner; four people posed symmetrically for aesthetic photos.

They didn't have to drag along the quiet boyfriend who was always half a step behind the rhythm. I didn't reply to Finn.

Ten minutes later, Sally reached out on WhatsApp. "Sally: Dean, Finn literally texted you an apology, what are you still throwing a fit about?

He's younger than us, he takes things to heart." A followup text popped up a second later: "Look, if you're really that salty about the sunrise, we'll buy you a nice steak dinner when we get back.

Fair?" "A nice dinner." Their universal bandaid for every time they left me behind.

Forgot to save me a seat in the lecture hall? "We'll buy you lunch." Forgot to tell me the group meetup time was pushed up an hour? "Dinner's on us." Forgot my twentyfirst birthday— Well, they hadn't even bought me dinner for that one.

Junior year, I gave them a week’s notice on my birthday. Sally said it was on her calendar; Piper promised she wouldn't forget; Lauren sent a little cake gif.

On the day of, I made a reservation for five at a downtown bistro.

When we got there, it turned out Finn had reached out to them that morning, ecstatic that his portfolio had been shortlisted for a regional photography grant.

He wanted to celebrate. Sally had turned to me by the coat check with an easy smile. "You don't mind combining things, right, Dean?

The more the merrier." I had smiled and said, "Not at all." The entire threehour dinner revolved around Finn’s lighting techniques and camera lenses.

Lauren edited his raw files directly on her tablet; Sally helped him draft his acceptance remarks; Piper kept raising her glass, toasting his brilliant future.

Not a single soul mentioned my birthday. Not a single word. Halfway through the meal, I went to the restroom.

On my way back, I heard Finn’s voice drifting out from the hallway near our table. "I'm so happy today...

Thank you guys so much for coming out specifically to celebrate for me." "Specifically." It was my reservation. My deposit. My birthday.

Yet in everyone’s eyes, it was a banquet thrown exclusively for Finn.

I walked back to the table, raised my water glass, and smiled. "Here's to Finn." Lauren glanced at me then, tapping her wine glass against mine.

That was the only time she looked directly at me the entire evening. The next morning, Sally posted an album of nine photos. Finn was in every single one.

Her caption read: "So proud of our resident artist." Piper commented: "Next stop, MoMA!" Lauren had liked it immediately.

Nobody remembered it had been my birthday. "Attention passengers on Flight 412 with service to Melbourne, we are now beginning general boarding at Gate 14." I stood up, hoisted my backpack onto one shoulder, and stepped into line.

My phone lit up one final time with a message from Piper. "Piper: Dean, seriously, where the hell are you? Lauren is actually getting panicked.

Are you ignoring her calls on purpose? Don't be so childish. We only want what's best for you." "What's best for you." I had swallowed those words for four straight years.

They called my concessions "maturity." They called my silence "a good temper." And the second I walked away, they called it "throwing a tantrum." It never occurred to any of them that a person could simply be broken beyond repair, with no intention of ever coming back.

The line crept forward. I stepped up, scanned my boarding pass on the glass screen, and walked down the accordion tunnel of the jet bridge.

When the heavy cabin door sealed shut behind me with a muted, pressurized thud, it felt like the closing of a heavy book. My screen flashed a final message before service died.

Lauren. "Lauren: Dean, if you don't answer right now, I am going to be genuinely furious." Looking at those words, I felt a quiet, hollow laugh escape my chest. She wasn't worried.

She was angry that her quiet, obedient boyfriend had broken rank.

The plane pushed back from the tarmac, the jet engines vibrating through the soles of my shoes as the runway lights blurred into streaks.

I powered down the phone. 3 "Dean, what the hell does your phone being off mean?" That was the first voicemail waiting for me when I touched down in the southern city and turned my phone back on.

Sally’s voice—sharp, exasperated, and thick with annoyance. "Lauren is losing her goddamn mind. Have you lost your head?

We didn't wake you up for one sunrise, is it really that serious?" I didn't call back. I caught a cab straight back to the campus apartments to pack my room.

My roommate, Mason, was in the middle of an online match when I rolled my duffel through the front door.

He pulled off his headset, staring at me in confusion. "Aren't you supposed to be on the island till Tuesday?

Why are you back alone?" "Left early." "Did you and Lauren get into it?" "No." "Then why the rush—" "I’m moving out," I said quietly. "Flying to Australia in three days." His hands froze over the mechanical keyboard. "You're doing what?" "I got a design offer with an agency in Melbourne.

Signed the contract last week." "You're leaving the country?

Does Lauren know?" "No." "You're just dipping out without breaking up with her?" I dropped to one knee on the floorboards, pulling my storage bins out from under the bed. "I haven't told her yet." "Dean, are you out of your mind?" "I've never been more clearheaded in my life." Mason had lived with me for four years.

He knew I didn't make rash decisions; I was the guy who overthought grocery lists.

He watched in silence as I pulled my sketchbooks and linen shirts from the closet, stacking them into boxes with robotic precision. "Need a hand?" he finally asked, voice softer now. "Can you grab those two frames off my desk?" He crossed the room and picked them up.

One was a photo of Lauren and me, taken last summer outside the campus coffee shop. The other was a framed group shot from our sophomore spring road trip.

Mason turned the group photo in his hands, studying the glass. "You know...

Finn is deadcenter in this shot." I didn't look up. "Yeah." "Hey," he said, turning the wood over. "Did you know Finn came poking around your room a couple weeks back when you were in the library?" "Doing what?" "I don't know.

I walked in and he was going through your desk drawers.

When I asked him what he was doing, he claimed he was looking for Postit notes." "I don't keep Postits in the drawers." "I know." Mason looked at me intently. "And that frame?

Didn't you used to keep it tucked back on the high shelf? It got moved down to the front of your desk right after that." I stopped folding. I remembered that.

The group photo had sat on the top bookshelf for a year. Suddenly it was right by my monitor.

I had assumed I moved it while cleaning. "He moved it?" "I caught him adjusting it right after he shut the drawer," Mason muttered. "I told him to keep his hands off other people's stuff.

He gave me that wideeyed look and said he was just dusting it off for you." "Dusting it off." Does someone open personal desk drawers to dust a picture frame?

I took the two frames from Mason’s hands and laid them flat on the desk, face down. "Don't pack those," I said. "Leave them here." Mason gave a slow nod and didn't push it.

I didn't have much. Everything I owned fit into one large suitcase and two cardboard mailing boxes.

The boxes were going to my parents' house; the suitcase was coming on the plane with me. Halfway through the packing, the phone rattled against the desk. Lauren.

I stared at her caller ID for three long seconds before swiping to answer. "Where the hell are you?" Her tone held no warmth, no relief—only sharp interrogation. "Back at school." "You went back to campus?

Why?" "I had things to handle." "What could you possibly need to handle? The trip isn't over until Tuesday!

You just up and vanished—Finn is sitting here terrified to even breathe because he thinks you hate him.

Are you satisfied now?" "Finn is terrified to breathe." So naturally, it was my fault. I had upset Finn. I had ruined the vibe of the trip.

I was being difficult. "Yeah," I murmured into the phone. "I'm sorry." "That's all you ever say! 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' Can you stop shutting down like this?

Every time something slightly annoys you, you give everyone the silent treatment.

How do you think that looks to the rest of the group?" "You guys keep having fun," I said, my voice empty of weight. "Don't worry about me." "Dean, what is your deal?" "Nothing.

I just had stuff to do." A heavy pause stretched between us on the line, and when she spoke again, her tone had softened by an inch, assuming she had won another round. "Fine.

At least you made it back safe. I'll call you tonight." "Okay." "Oh, by the way—go over to Finn’s dorm and grab my black laptop charger. I left it over there.

It’s the long braided one." I pressed the phone against my ear, my eyes fixed on the peeling white paint of the ceiling. "Which room?" "Building Seven, Room 405.

His roommate should be there, just give them my name." "Just give them my name." Her charger was in Finn’s room.

She found this entirely unremarkable—so ordinary, in fact, that she saw nothing wrong with ordering her boyfriend to go fetch it for her. "Okay," I said. I hung up the phone.

Mason was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with an incredulous expression. "You're not actually going to his dorm, are you?" "No." "Then why did you say okay?" I didn't answer.

It was muscle memory. Saying "okay", saying "it’s fine", saying "I don't mind".

I had said it so many times over the last two years that even I couldn't tell anymore whether I was placating her or lying to myself. My screen buzzed again. Group chat.

Finn had posted a photo. A moody, goldenhour shot of the empty beach.

He was sitting alone in the sand, Lauren’s oversized green windbreaker pulled tightly around him, captioned with a single wilting rose emoji.

Sally commented: "Don't be sad, sweetie. That's just Dean’s moodiness, he’ll bounce back in a day or two." Piper added: "Yeah, don't let it ruin your day.

He isn't mad at you." "Not about you." "Not your fault." "It's Dean's problem." "It was always Dean's problem." I turned the phone over on the desk and reached into the very back of the top drawer.

Behind a stack of old sketch pads sat a small velvet jewelry box. I opened it. Inside was a delicate sterling silver chain, threaded with a tiny, understated star pendant.

Lauren had given it to me for our first anniversary. "It looks like your name," she had told me softly that night. "Dean.

Like the North Star." I had worn it around my neck for months, touching the cool metal whenever I missed her.

Later, during a movie night in the common room, Finn had leaned across the sofa, catching sight of the pendant under my collar. He had smiled sweetly. "That’s the necklace, right?

Isn't it gorgeous, Dean?

I dragged Lauren through three different boutiques downtown before we finally found that one." "Three boutiques." She had spent an entire Saturday dragging Finn through town to pick out a gift for me.

Yet she had never once gone shopping with me alone.

I placed the chain back into its velvet slot, snapped the box shut, and set it on the empty desk right beside the facedown photo frames.

Mason pushed off the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Dean... are you really going to board an international flight without telling her to her face?" "I'll text her from the gate." "Why?" "Because if I tell her now," I said, pulling the heavy zipper around my suitcase, "she’ll think it’s just another bluff.

She’ll come over, throw a few sweet words my way, and I’ll cave.

And then next week, everything goes right back to the way it was." "And you can't cave anymore?" I stood up straight, looking at the barren desk, the stripped mattress, the walls stripped clean of my life. "There's nothing left inside me to soften, Mason." 4 "Lauren: Come outside.

I'm standing in front of your building." The text arrived just as I was folding my last pair of jeans into the duffel. She wasn't on the island. She had booked a flight back early.

Mason parted the dusty window blinds and peeked down at the courtyard. "She's actually here. Piper's with her." "Sally?" "Don't see her.

Probably stayed behind with Finn." The phone chimed with a voice memo from Lauren. "I’m not coming up. Come down right now.

We need to talk." I sealed the bag and tossed my keys onto the counter. "Keep an eye on my stuff.

I'll be right back." Mason hesitated. "Are you going to tell her?" "No," I said quietly. "Just saying goodbye." The dormitory stairwell was dead silent.

It was graduation week; most students were either pulling allnighters on capstone papers or already celebrating downtown. I pushed through the heavy glass entrance doors.

Lauren was standing directly beneath the yellow streetlamp.

Her white graphic tee was still wrinkled from travel, flecked with dried salt spray, her hair pulled back into a messy, impatient bun. She looked exhausted.

Piper was leaning against the passenger door of her sedan, scrolling through TikTok.

She looked up at me briefly, her expression cool, and said nothing. "What are you doing here?" I asked Lauren. "What do you think I’m doing here?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "You walked out on everyone!

Did you honestly expect me to just lounge around on the beach while you pulled this?" "You had two days left on the rental.

You could have stayed." "Dean, can you cut the passiveaggressive bullshit for once in your life?" She took two brisk steps toward me, her voice dropping into a sharp hiss. "What is your problem?

Just say it." "Nothing's my problem. I just wanted to come back early." "Over a fucking sunrise?

I told you, Finn was terrified of the dark—" "I know." "Then why are you—" "Lauren, let me ask you something." She stopped, blinking at me under the harsh amber light. "What?" "Why was your laptop charger in Finn’s room?" She froze for a fraction of a second. "I went over to help him troubleshoot his external hard drive last week.

I left it on his desk. So what?" "You went to his dorm to fix his drive?" "His files wouldn't load! He asked for help.

What is the big deal?" "When was this?" "I don't know, last week? Two weeks ago?

What difference does it make?" "Two weeks ago," I said, keeping my voice utterly level, "I asked if you could look at my desktop monitor because the display was glitching before finals.

You told me you were too busy to come over." Her forehead creased in immediate defense. "That's completely different!

You could have just taken your monitor to the IT desk on campus.

Finn's project was due the next morning—" "How is it different, Lauren?" Piper looked up from her screen, rolling her eyes with a theatrical groan. "Okay, Jesus, Dean, drop the interrogation.

Lauren literally hopped on a redeye to come fix this. The least you could do is show some basic appreciation." "A redeye." Not because she was terrified she was losing me.

Because my silence was humiliating her in front of her friends. "Piper," I said, turning to look at her directly. "I’m speaking to my girlfriend.

Do you mind staying out of it?" Piper’s eyebrows shot up. She let out a sharp, incredulous scoff. "Wow.

Look who finally grew a spine." "I always had one," I replied. "I just stopped wasting my breath." She shook her head, muttering under her breath as she went back to her phone.

Lauren let out an exasperated breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look. If you have grievances, just spit them out.

Let's get it over with." "Your post from this morning," I said quietly. "Four hands.

Why wasn't mine in it?" She yanked her phone from her back pocket, thumbing open her feed. "Are you seriously whining about that?

You weren't there when we took it!" "I was sitting in the dark living room at threefifty waiting for you guys.

You were already gone." A beat of uncomfortable silence fell over the sidewalk. "Well... why didn't you call?" she stammered. "Why should I have had to call?" "If you had called, we would have waited for you!" "Four grown adults walked out of that beach house, and not a single one of you noticed my room was empty," I said, every word hitting with the cold precision of hail. "You walked all the way to the trail, hiked the bluffs, set up your cameras, and it didn't cross anyone's mind to check on me.

And I was supposed to call and beg you to wait up?" "Dean, this is what you always do," she groaned, her voice rising in frustration. "You never communicate in the moment!

You bottle everything up, let it fester, and then throw these massive historical tantrums later!" "Never communicate." No. I had communicated. Dozens of times.

Sophomore year, New Year’s Eve, the four of them went ice skating at the city rink and forgot to tell me the location had changed.

I said, "Could you please give me a headsup next time?" Sally said, "I thought Lauren told you." Lauren said, "I assumed Sally texted you." Junior year, fall break, they went to an escape room without me.

I said, "Could you guys stop leaving me out?" Piper said, "We thought you hated escape rooms." I had never once said that; they had simply never bothered to ask what I liked.

Every time I spoke up, it was dismissed as oversensitivity. "Dean's making a mountain out of a molehill again." "Dean's keeping score." So eventually, I stopped speaking up.

And the second I went quiet, it became: "If you don't tell me, how am I supposed to know?" Looking at Lauren under the flickering streetlight, a profound, bonedeep exhaustion washed over me.

Not the heat of an argument.

Just an overwhelming fatigue that had settled into the marrow of my bones. "Lauren, do you want to know why I didn't call this morning?" "Why?" "Because I wanted to see what would happen if I didn't reach out first.

I wanted to see if anyone would remember I existed." Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

The amber light caught the hard lines of her jaw, her expression caught somewhere between defensive irritation and vague discomfort. "And do you know what happened?" I continued softly. "For two and a half hours, you guys took aesthetic photos, posted stories, and laughed in the group chat.

Not one phone call. Not one text to see if I had broken an ankle on the trail." "Dean—" "I'm done." She clamped her mouth shut.

I took half a step backward, putting distance between us. "Go back to the island," I said. "Finn's waiting on you.

You wouldn't want him getting anxious in the dark." "I flew here for you!" she shouted, her composure cracking. "Not for him!" "You found me. I'm breathing.

You can go now." "I’m not leaving! If we don't settle this right here, right now, we’re standing on this sidewalk all night." "Settle what, Lauren? What do you want me to say?