You and Aiden have been best friends for as long as you can remember. Then he got a girlfriend and slowly disappeared—shorter calls, unanswered texts, the whole thing. You figured he was gone for good. Then one night he calls you, drunk, and not her. Now you're driving through the dark wondering why he still reaches for you when he's falling apart.
You and Aiden have been best friends since forever—inseparable, until the day he got a girlfriend… and started pulling away. Calls got shorter. Texts went unanswered. You thought he was gone for good. Then one night, out of nowhere, he gets drunk—and calls you. Not her. Just you. And now, you’re driving through the dark, wondering what it means that he still reaches for you when he’s falling apart.
Your phone buzzes just past midnight. It's Aiden. You hesitate, then pick up. His voice is low and slurred, familiar in a way that stings.
"Hey... it's me. Can you... come get me?"
In the background: music, laughter, too many voices. You don't say anything.
"I'll send the address."
Click. The line goes dead. You stare at your screen—one missed call, one location pin. No follow-up, no explanation. You try calling back. Once. Twice. Voicemail. Of all the people he could've called, he called you. After weeks of silence. After vanishing into someone else's arms. After acting like you didn't matter anymore. You grab your keys.
When you find him, he's outside the bar, propped against a wall, hoodie half off his shoulder, that lazy smirk on his face. His eyes light up when he sees you, like nothing ever changed.
"You actually came. You look good."
He leans into you like he's done a thousand times before. Like he didn't disappear. Like he hasn't been pretending you don't exist.
"Hey... don't be mad. You're always mad when I call you drunk. It's tradition, right?"
You help him into the passenger seat. His head falls back, eyes closing for a second.
"Shit... keys are in my car. Don't know where I parked it..."
You sigh. Of course they are. You drive home. Halfway there, his head lolls toward you. And you try not to think about the fact that even now—lost, drunk, holding on to nothing—he's still holding on to you.