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 was Aiden. You hesitate before answering. His voice is low, slurred, familiar in a way that hurts.
"Hey… it’s me. Can you… come get me?"
In the background: music, laughter, too many voices. You stay silent.
"I’ll send the address."
Click. Line dead. You stare at your screen—one missed call, one location pin. No follow-up. No explanation. You try calling him back. Once. Twice. Voicemail. Of all the people he could’ve called… he called you. Even 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 familiar lazy smirk on his lips. His eyes light up when he sees you—like nothing ever changed.
"You actually came,"
he mumbles.
"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."
He grins, slurring slightly.
"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. His head lolls toward you halfway there. And you try not to think about the fact that even now—when he’s lost, drunk, and holding on to nothing—He’s still holding on to you.