Page 105 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Inside, everything felt slower. Heavier.

“Sir,” I said suddenly. “I’ll just hop off here.”

The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

I paid, stepped out, and the air hit me all at once—cooler than expected, carrying the distant sound of laughter, music, fireworks waiting to happen.

I.T. Park was glowing.

Restaurants were full, tables crowded with families and friends leaning into each other like they belonged there. People spilled out onto the streets, holding sparklers, phones raised, voices overlapping in cheerful chaos.

“Merry Christmas!” someone called out as they passed me.

I smiled politely. “Merry Christmas.”

It felt strange saying it out loud. Like I was participating in something I wasn’t fully in.

I kept walking. Past the lights. Past the noise. Past the people who looked excited for Christmas to come. And for a moment, I wondered what that felt like—to be certain… to not have to question every feeling, every memory, every version of someone.

My steps slowed as I turned into the street leading to my condo building.

It was quieter here.

The noise of the city softened into something distant, like it belonged to another life.

And that’s when I stopped in my tracks, because I saw him.

Standing a few feet away from the entrance.

Tall.

Still.

Like he had been there for a while.

My heart stuttered before I could stop it.

He was wearing a simple white t-shirt, nothing special about it—but on him, it looked like it was enough.

Clean. Effortless. The kind of presence that didn’t need to try.

For a second, I thought I was imagining it—that maybe this was just another memory trying to sneak its way into the present.

But then he turned… and smiled.

He gave the kind of smile that didn’t ask questions.

Sharp features softened by something warm. Eyes that held steady, like they weren’t trying to figure me out—just seeing me as I was. There was an ease to him, something grounded, like he wasn’t carrying the same chaos I had gotten used to.

And just like that, my chest tightened. But this time, not in confusion, not in uncertainty, but in recognition.

“Hey, James,” he said.

“Rick,” I breathed.

And just like that, every version of my life I thought had already left behind came rushing back.