The three of us were at a standstill. My girlfriend and my best friend both wore the same stony, impenetrable scowl, united in freezing me out.

I tried apologizing to Vera first; she didn’t even look up from her phone.

I moved over to placate Rory; he kept his eyes glued to his Nintendo Switch, mashing the buttons with aggressive indifference.

I stood between them like the filling in a crushed sandwich, apologizing to both sides, hitting a brick wall on either end.

Back in high school, when we had to choose our academic tracks, they had demanded I pick a side.

I registered for AP Calculus and Physics to match Vera’s schedule, and Rory didn't speak to me for an entire month. I wrote him twenty separate apology letters.

He tossed every single one into the hallway trash can. "Whatever, man, I don’t care. You two are the couple anyway.

It’s not like I forced you to take the arts track with me." In college, when they both moved into offcampus apartments, they asked whose lease I was signing. I chose Rory’s.

Vera packed my things into garbage bags, set them on the curb, and slammed her front door in my face. "Since you picked him, don’t ever bother coming back here." That cold war lasted two months.

I spent weeks trailing after her, begging for forgiveness, until one rainy afternoon I slipped on the wet concrete stairs outside her building.

I sat on the pavement with a fractured ankle, crying out in sheer agony. She didn't even pause. She stepped right over my sprawled body without a single backward glance.

Ten minutes ago, at the theater kiosk, Vera wanted to see a hard scifi indie, while Rory wanted a mindless summer blockbuster. Once again, they made me the tiebreaker.

I tried to compromise by picking an ensemble comedy. Instantly, the air curdled. They started talking across me, cutting me out of the conversation entirely.

Rory stared Vera down. "I’m watching the action film. If you don’t want to come, fine.

Don’t." Vera let out a dry, biting chuckle. "Can you fit a single logical thought into your skull?

What’s even worth watching in that garbage?" Rory’s eyes welled with sudden, angry tears. I saw the flicker of panic cross Vera’s face.

The sharp edges of her posture melted instantly. She let out a soft, defeated sigh, reaching out to brush a tear from his cheek. "Hey… stop crying.

We’ll watch whatever you want." I stood there on the polished lobby tile, clutching three useless comedy tickets.

All at once, I didn't want to watch anything at all. … The second Vera gave in, Rory’s tears vanished. He tilted his chin, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Kidding.

I faked it.

I knew you’d cave." Vera gave his shoulder an affectionate shove, her voice laced with weary fondness. "You only pull that because you know I can’t stand seeing you hurt." Rory hooked his arm through hers, swaying back and forth. "I don’t care.

You promised.

You have to sit through the whole explosion fest with me." "Alright, stop tugging, you’re wrinkling my jacket." Eight years together, and this was how I learned that Vera was capable of having a soft heart.

During our junior year of college, when we were in the middle of another bitter standoff, I was anonymously reported for academic dishonesty right before finals.

My merit scholarship—the funding keeping my mother in the progressive care unit—was on the line. Vera had been sitting two desks behind me during that exam.

She had an unobstructed view of everything I did. When the academic dean brought her in to verify my integrity, she offered only a flat, detached shrug. "I wasn't paying attention.

I don't spend my time watching people who have nothing to do with me." She paused, then added, "Though… he has been desperate for cash lately." That single, careless sentence cost me my scholarship.

It cost me the money meant for my mother’s medical care.

That afternoon, I broke down in the stairwell of the humanities building. "Why?" I choked out, my chest heaving. "You knew I didn't cheat! Why didn't you just tell the truth?

Do you have any idea what that money meant? It was keeping my mom alive! I worked three campus jobs, studying on my breaks until my brain felt like static.

How could you destroy all of that with one word?" Vera leaned back against the iron railing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching my breakdown with utter detachment.

Only when my voice cracked into a hoarse whisper did she step forward, offering me a single paper tissue. "Done with your tantrum?" she asked calmly. "Connor, when you get this hysterical over money, you look pathetic." Tears never worked on Vera.

Only Rory’s manufactured vulnerability could pierce her armor. Only Rory’s emotions ever registered as real.

I walked over to the counter and returned the three comedy tickets. "You two go ahead.

I’m skipping." The faint smile on Vera’s lips vanished. "What kind of mood are you in now?" Rory threw his hands up in theatrical innocence. "I honestly don’t know what I did wrong.

Connor, if you really want to see the comedy that badly, we can just go. You don’t have to pull a face like we’re ganging up to bully you." Vera’s jaw tightened. "Don’t indulge him.

We came for a movie; we’re sticking to the plan." She gripped my wrist and dragged me over to the automated ticketing machine.

The next showing of the action flick was about to start.

The seating chart displayed only three remaining spots: a pair of adjoining seats in the center, and a lone seat separated by the aisle.

Without a second thought, Vera shoved the single aisle ticket into my hand. "Rory has an astigmatism," she stated matteroffactly. "He can’t read the subtitles from the edge.

You take the aisle." Rory glanced at me with feigned hesitation. "Is that really okay? I mean, Connor is the actual boyfriend.

I don’t mind sitting alone…" "He doesn't even like action movies," Vera interrupted, pressing the stub firmly into my palm. "He’d just be on his phone the whole time anyway." We scanned our tickets and entered the dark auditorium.

Vera and Rory took their seats sidebyside, sharing a large tub of buttered popcorn. Rory reached in, his fingers brushing against Vera’s as she reached in at the same moment.

He turned his head and gave a quiet, private laugh. Vera whispered something back, the dim screen light catching the gentle curve of her mouth.

I turned my head away, fixing my eyes on the blank screen.

A few moments later, the stranger sitting to my right shifted, aggressively claiming the shared armrest. "Hey handsome," she murmured, leaning in. "Here all by yourself?" I didn't answer.

I pulled my shoulders in, shifting as far left as the cramped seat allowed. The auditorium lights dropped completely.

In the sudden pitch black, a hand with long, crimson acrylic nails slid deliberately onto the inside of my thigh.

The woman leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "Wearing clothes that thin… aren't you practically asking to be touched?" A violent ringing erupted in my ears.

I recoiled, shooting to my feet so fast my seat snapped back with a loud clatter. "What the hell are you doing?!" Heads turned across the entire room.

I pointed at her, my finger trembling uncontrollably. "She touched me!

She just put her hands on me and whispered filth in my ear!" The woman stood up slowly, her face melting into an expression of theatrical innocence. "Whoa, man, why are you screaming?

These seats are tiny. I accidentally brushed against your leg. It wasn't on purpose.

Can you stop ruining the movie for everyone?" Low murmurs rippled through the rows around us. "Seriously, she looks normal. Why’s he freaking out?" "God, talk about dramatic.

It’s an accidental bump, get over yourself." Humiliated, shaking, and completely isolated, I looked over the aisle at Vera, desperate for an anchor. "Vera… she really did it.

She touched me…" Rory muffled a chuckle behind his hand. "Connor, bro, it’s pitch black in here. Are you sure you’re not hallucinating?

She looks totally respectable." Vera didn't stand. She didn't move toward me. She didn't put herself between me and the crowd.

She just let out an irritated sigh. "Connor, is your paranoia acting up again?" she said, her voice cutting clearly through the quiet room. "Just because someone broke into your place years ago doesn't mean every stranger is a predator." The words struck me like a physical blow.

I froze, the blood draining from my face. During our junior year, when I chose to room with Rory, Vera had punished me with an endless silent treatment.

Rory, annoyed by my constant attempts to fix things with her, eventually threw all my belongings into the hallway.

I had no choice but to rent a cheap, dilapidated groundfloor studio on the edge of town. Someone scoped the place.

In the dead of night, a stranger picked the lock, broke in, and pinned me to my bed.

If the neighbor hadn't heard the crash and called the police, I don't know what would have happened.

When Vera finally arrived at the precinct, her face had been pale, her eyes redrimmed with raw panic as she held me close. "It’s okay, Connor. I’m here.

You’re safe now." That trauma had been soothed by her warmth, knit together by her promises.

And now, with a casual wave of her hand, she had ripped the scar wide open, holding the bloody tissue up for a room full of strangers to mock.

Vera leaned over, negotiated a seat swap with the girl sitting to her left, and sent a quick Venmo payment.

The girl gathered her purse and moved over to my vacated aisle seat. "There," Vera said, motioning to the empty spot beside her. "Stop standing there making a spectacle of yourself.

I know you just threw a fit because you wanted to sit next to me. Come sit down." My entire body felt numb, cold to the marrow. I moved mechanically and took the seat.

During the final act of the film, Rory began to sniffle softly. Vera’s voice softened instantly. "Why are you crying like this?" Rory wiped his nose with his sleeve.

Vera sighed, pulling a soft tissue from her purse to dab at the corners of his eyes. "Look at you.

You’ve crumpled the popcorn tub into a ball." Just last month, while watching a drama in her car, my eyes had welled up.

She had tossed a rough pack of napkins into my lap and told me sharply not to get my messy emotions all over her leather seats. The house lights came up. The credits rolled.

We drifted out of the theater with the exiting crowd. Rory’s eyes were still slightly puffy. "It’s such a tragedy.

The male lead and the female lead would’ve been together if it weren't for the second guy getting in the way." He sniffed. "She clearly didn't love him anymore, but he just kept clinging on." Vera nodded in agreement. "I know.

The guy had zero selfawareness." Rory sighed dramatically. "I think what the male lead said at the end was so true." "What did he say?" Vera asked. "‘In a relationship, the one who isn't loved is the real interloper.’" Vera’s footsteps slowed for a fraction of a second. "He’s not wrong.

Forcing a title when the feeling is gone doesn't do anyone any good." Rory raised his eyebrows in triumph, glancing over his shoulder at me. "Connor, what do you think?" I nodded slowly. "I think the leads were made for each other." I looked directly ahead. "And I think the other guy did the right thing by walking away and giving up his spot." Vera frowned, shooting me a sharp, searching look, clearly surprised that I hadn't pushed back.

But she didn't probe. She smoothed down her jacket, eager to change the subject. "Let’s eat.

Rory’s been craving hot pot since this morning." The restaurant was a trendy spot on the distant outskirts of the city, nearly fifteen miles from our downtown apartment.

Vera ordered a blistering spicy broth.

The moment the pot came to a boil, she expertly swished a slice of beef tripe through the red oil and dropped it into Rory’s dipping bowl. "Cooked it two seconds too long, but it’ll do," she said, immediately tucking a clean cloth napkin under his wrist.

Rory picked it up, his eyes crinkling into an easy smile. "It’s tough. Your penalty is cooking the next one." The small ceramic plate in front of me remained empty.

She had forgotten that after years of pulling latenight shifts to help her launch her design firm, my stomach couldn't tolerate severe spice anymore.

Vera suddenly looked up. "Our anniversary is next month. I’m taking my PTO.

I went ahead and looked at flights to Aspen—we can go skiing." Rory dropped his chopsticks with a loud clatter, rolling his eyes. "Skiing? Are you serious?

I want to go to Cabo and scuba dive.

I already bought my swim trunks." Vera scoffed. "With your swimming skills, diving in open water is practically a death wish." They locked eyes, neither willing to yield.

Rory kicked the leg of my chair under the table. "Connor, you break the tie. Where should we go?" The same old game.

Whenever they disagreed, they shoved me into the center as a referee.

Whichever side I picked, the other would weaponize silence against me, forcing me to crawl back on my knees to apologize.

I looked at the bubbling red broth. "I want to go to Providence." The table went dead silent. Vera’s expression darkened instantly.

Rory rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful, throwing his chopsticks onto the table. "What a buzzkill," Rory muttered under his breath, pulling out his phone to open a game.

Vera chewed her food slowly, her face devoid of emotion. They were waiting. They were waiting for me to break, just like I had a hundred times before.

Waiting for the suffocating silence to crush me until I forced a cheerful smile and said, "Actually, Aspen sounds great," or "Cabo could be fun." I set my chopsticks down cleanly across my bowl. "Vera, let’s break up." Vera stopped chewing.

A flash of genuine bewilderment flickered in her eyes, quickly replaced by a cool, patronizing smirk. "Do you really think throwing those words around is going to make me bow down to you?" Rory didn't even look up from his screen, his thumbs flying across the glass. "Oh, ignore him, Vera.

He just wants attention.

Hey, look at these wide noodles—aren't these just like the ones we had at that spot in Chicago last month?" Vera glanced over. "That place had a way heavier base.

You had stomach cramps at 2:00 AM, and I had to walk three blocks in the rain to find a 24hour pharmacy for you." "Well, who told you not to stop me from ordering extra spicy?" "I tried.

You wouldn't listen." They fell into their familiar, seamless rhythm of banter. My declaration of ending our eightyear relationship had been treated like thin air.

I pushed my chair back. "I’m using the restroom." Vera didn't spare me a glance, casually pouring a glass of warm water for Rory.

When I walked back into the dining room, the table was wiped clean. The waiter approached, holding a leather bill fold, looking slightly apologetic. "Excuse me, sir.

The gentleman and lady left a few minutes ago. They mentioned you’d be handling the check." I took out my card, paid the balance, and walked out into the chilly night air.

Vera’s car was gone. From here to our downtown apartment, it was a fifteenmile stretch of dark, winding suburban road.

I pulled my thin jacket tightly around myself and began to walk. She was sending a message. This was my punishment for ruining her evening: abandonment.

What she didn't realize was that by the time I finished walking those fifteen miles, whatever had tied me to her would be gone for good. ...

When I finally reached the apartment, my legs were numb. I dragged my old suitcase out from under the bed.

Years ago, on the night after the breakin, Vera had brought me here in the dead of night, shoving this very suitcase into the deepest corner of the closet. "This is your home now," she had told me, her voice fiercely protective. "You’re never moving again." Now, I folded my shirts one by one and laid them neatly at the bottom of the bag. "What are you doing?" Vera was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, her arms crossed. "Packing." "Connor, haven't you had enough of this drama?" "Vera, we’re done.

Since we’re broken up, I’m moving out." Her face darkened completely. "Connor, you’ve been pulling this stunt for eight years. Aren't you tired of it?

Packing a few ragged shirts, pretending you’re walking out, just waiting for me to chase you down and coax you back?" I pulled the zipper shut with a smooth, continuous sound. "I’m not pretending." She turned on her heel, walked into the living room, and returned with a thick, stapled sheaf of papers, throwing it onto the mattress in front of me. "Fine.

If you want to leave, settle the bill first." I picked up the stack.

Page one: The emergency hospital bills she had covered for my mother during our junior year, after I lost my scholarship.

Page two: Half of the marketrate rent for this apartment, calculated from the exact month I moved in.

Every single utility bill, internet charge, and grocery run was tabulated, calculated down to the second decimal place.

I stared at the dense rows of numbers, my fingertips turning cold. When she started her design firm, the capital had run dry.

I worked three jobs around the clock, surviving on plain boiled ramen for a month, and handed her thirty thousand dollars in cash.

She had held me that night with tears in her eyes, swearing that everything she built would belong to both of us.

I had thought our lives were inextricably woven together. "You’re really going to itemize everything between us?" I asked softly.

Vera’s lips curved into a cold, transactional smile. "Business is business. Especially since you claim we have no relationship anymore.

If you don’t have the money, sit your ass down and stay put. Stop throwing the word ‘breakup’ around.

Where do you think you’re going to go anyway?" Most of my income over the past few years had gone toward my mother’s physical therapy and poststroke rehabilitation.

Vera was certain I had an empty bank account. She didn't know that last week, I had been awarded the national grand prize for an independent architectural design competition.

I took a slow, steady breath. "Fine. I’ll pay it." "Vera? Are you in there?" Rory’s voice drifted in from the foyer, bright and energetic.

He walked into the apartment holding a thick roll of architectural blueprints, his face flush with excitement. "Vera, look!

The staging plans for the unit across the hall just came in. Come tell me what color rug I should get for the living room!" He unrolled the paper onto the dining table.

The header clearly displayed the unit number: "Apt 1502." The luxury unit directly across from our front door.

A rare flicker of awkwardness crossed Vera’s face. "Rory’s not great at living alone. I bought the unit across the hall so it’s easier to look after him. Don’t overthink it.

The title only has his name on it right now, but if you stop acting crazy, I can add your name to the deed tomorrow." Rory gave a playful pout. "See, Connor?

Look how generous Vera is. That’s a multimilliondollar property. Getting your name on that deed is basically hitting the lottery.

You’re coming out way ahead." Rory reached out, lightly tugging Vera’s sleeve. "Come on, Vera, come look at this.

Is the nightstand measurement too low?" Vera allowed herself to be pulled toward the door.

Just before stepping out, she glanced back at me over her shoulder. "When you come to your senses, put your clothes back in the closet.

I don’t have the patience to keep playing your games." I took out my phone and booked a oneway ticket to Providence.

I transferred the exact total from the itemized bill into her bank account, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out the door toward the waiting cab.

She didn't need to put my name on any deed. Whether it was the apartment or Vera herself—I didn't want either of them anymore.

I rolled my luggage through the terminal and walked toward the gate without looking back.