Heartbreak 2

Gleed's gaze sharpened as she took in Lily's posture—shoulders hunched, hands twisting in her lap, eyes fixed on the floor like she was bracing for something. The room was dim, but the soft glow from the bedside lamp cast shadows beneath Lily's eyes, making her look smaller, fragile.

"Hey..." Gleed's voice was quiet, careful. She stepped closer, lowering herself just enough to catch Lily's downcast gaze. "You okay?"

Lily flinched, so subtly it was almost imperceptible. A tight, wavering smile flickered across her lips before vanishing. "Yeah… just tired," she murmured. Her voice was paper-thin, brittle, like it might crumble under its own weight.

Lies.

Gleed didn't call her out on it. She knew that look—the way people curled inward when they wanted to disappear. Instead, she nodded, exhaling softly. "Okay," she said, turning for the door.

Her hand had barely brushed the doorknob when Lily's voice—hesitant, almost reluctant—stopped her.

"How long have you been friends with Andrea and Taylor?"

Something in her tone sent a flicker of unease through Gleed's chest. She turned back slowly, brow arching. "A while now... why?"

Lily swallowed, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater. When she finally lifted her gaze, uncertainty clouded her eyes, like she wasn't sure if she wanted an answer or reassurance.

"Nothing… I just—" A breath hitched in her throat. "I get the feeling they don't really like me."

A small, bitter laugh slipped out, but there was no humor in it.

Gleed's chest tightened.

"Lily."

She stepped forward, crouching slightly so their eyes were level. Lily looked away, but Gleed wasn't letting this go. Not yet.

"That's not true, and you know it," she said gently. "They just take time to warm up to people. That's how they are."

Lily inhaled shakily, like she wanted to believe her. Like she wanted to pretend it didn't sting.

Gleed didn't give her the chance to overthink it. She wrapped her arms around Lily, pulling her into a warm, steady embrace. Lily was tense at first, stiff like she wasn't used to being held. Then, slowly, she melted into it.

"Poor baby," Gleed murmured, voice filled with quiet empathy. "Cheer up, okay?"

Lily nodded, but the weight in her eyes lingered.

---

The bar was alive with noise—music pulsing low in the background, the hum of conversation blending with the occasional burst of laughter. But Andrea barely registered any of it.

She was too focused on Nolan.

He was behind the counter, wiping down a glass with slow, methodical movements. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw spoke louder than words.

Andrea swallowed against the lump in her throat.

"Nolan," she said, just loud enough for him to hear over the bar's commotion. "Can we talk?"

His hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he resumed his task, his grip on the glass tightening slightly. "I doubt there's anything to talk about, okay?" His voice was flat, detached.

The indifference stung.

Andrea stepped closer, fingers gripping the edge of the counter. "Come on, Nolan... you can't just act like we didn't—" She stopped herself, her breath catching. The words felt too big, too heavy.

Nolan's gaze snapped to hers, and for the first time that night, his mask cracked. Anger flickered in his green eyes, laced with something deeper.

"That's because it was a mistake... right?" His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was sharp enough to cut. "You made that clear yourself."

The memory slammed into her.

The way she had dismissed it, pushed him away when he had tried to reach for her. The hurt in his eyes when she'd said it didn't mean anything.

God.

Andrea's breath shuddered. "I—I didn't mean it like that," she whispered. "I was a mess. I still am." A hollow laugh escaped her, barely holding together. "I just… I'm sorry, Nolan."

Silence stretched between them, thick and unyielding.

Then Nolan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know what? I'm sorry too," he admitted, his voice softer now, tinged with something like regret. "I should've understood you were going through something. But instead, I just—" He stopped himself, shaking his head.

Andrea bit her lip.

She glanced up at him, hesitant, then offered a small, tentative smile. "How about we have a do-over?"

Nolan studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"That would be nice," he murmured.

And for the first time in a long time, Andrea felt the past loosen its grip—just a little.

Maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready to move forward.

This version combines both scenes for seamless pacing, deepening Lily's emotional turmoil, Andrea's conflict, and the tension between them all.

Andrea never expected to feel this at ease with Nolan. Their conversations flowed effortlessly, like water slipping between fingers—natural, unforced. She found herself watching him more, noticing the way his lips curved into a lazy smirk when he teased her, the quiet intensity in his gaze when she spoke. He had a way of listening that made her feel like the only person in the room, his presence warm, steady, grounding.

Yet, even as he pulled her close, his arm slung casually over her shoulders at social gatherings, a part of her felt… incomplete. She laughed at his jokes, let herself get lost in the quiet moments they shared, but in the dead of night, when the world stilled, a name she shouldn't be thinking about crept into her mind. Joe. The ghost of their past crackled like static in the background, and no matter how much she focused on Nolan's warmth, that old fire refused to rekindle.

And Lily saw it all.

She watched from across the room, nails digging into her palm as Nolan leaned in to whisper something in Andrea's ear, making her giggle. The way Andrea tilted her head up to meet his gaze, the way Nolan's fingers lazily traced circles on her arm—it sent a sharp pang through Lily's chest.

It should be her.

She tore her gaze away, but it was useless. Their presence wrapped around her, suffocating, making her stomach churn with something between longing and despair. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to look unaffected as she turned toward Gleed, who was watching her with quiet amusement.

"You're staring," Gleed murmured, her voice low, teasing.

Lily stiffened. "I'm not."

A smirk tugged at Gleed's lips. "Right." She leaned in, her breath warm against Lily's ear. "Then why do you look like you want to claw someone's eyes out?"

Lily swallowed hard. She was too on edge, too caught in the storm of emotions that Nolan and Andrea stirred inside her. But before she could respond, Gleed's fingers ghosted over her thigh beneath the table, sending a shiver up her spine.

"Relax," Gleed murmured, her voice like silk. "You're wound up."

Lily inhaled sharply as Gleed's touch traveled higher, her fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over her skin. It was dangerous, the way she could do this—dismantle Lily's composure with the lightest brush of her fingers.

Across the table, Andrea let out another soft laugh, her body tilting toward Nolan as if drawn by gravity. Lily's heart clenched, her eyes burning with something she refused to name.

Gleed shifted closer, her lips brushing the shell of Lily's ear. "Stop thinking about them."

But how could she?

The rest of the night blurred, the ache lingering in Lily's chest long after the laughter died down and everyone went their separate ways.