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“Like, actually? Or are you just saying that because we’re supposed to?”

“It was semi-gross. Lots of fluid.” I laughed, and we both shivered involuntarily. “But also really beautiful. Like art.”

Rachel nodded. I knew she would understand the paradox.

“So what made the world end? Or am I witnessing a slow-burn?” she asked.

I closed my eyes. The image of Will in the tent came back immediately—his voice, steady and careful, the way he’d said my name. The feeling of his arms wrapped around me, and the quiet way he left when he thought I’d fallen back asleep.

I’d asked the question, and even though he didn’t give me the answer I’d wanted, I was proud of how I handled it. I’d never put myself out there before. I was lucky my first time was with someone as gentle as Will.

“It didn’t end,” I said. “It just… clarified.”

We were still friends. The roles were reversed, but we’d done this dance before.

Rachel made a noncommittal noise. It was very effective, like something I should practice.

“Will spent the night here,” I added.

“Whoa.”

I picked at a loose thread on the sleeping bag. “Nothing happened. I asked him if we were just friends. Like—actually just friends.”

“And?”

“He said yes.” I wet my lips. “Immediately.”

“I can’t change who I am, just as much as you can’t change who you are.”

Rachel’s eyebrows lifted, just a fraction. “How did that feel?”

I stared back up at the ceiling. The dark patch had spread, and I wondered if it would drip on my face.

“Bad,” I said. Then, because that felt insufficient, “But also… true.”

Maybe The Note was a pros and cons list about our relationship and it was cons all the way down.

Rachel didn’t jump in. She waited. That was one of the reasons I loved her. She let silence do its work.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I went on. “He was honest. Kind. Very… adult about it.” I huffed. “I think he felt relieved.”

“And you?”

I hesitated. My chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t panic, just pressure. Like something pressing up against the inside of my ribs, elbowing for room.

“I felt like I’d just closed a door I wasn’t allowed to be sad about,” I said finally.

Rachel hummed. “That sounds familiar.”

I turned my head to look at her. “To you?”

“To women,” she said. “Mostly.”

I smiled despite myself, then let it fade. “The thing is,” I said. “I asked him because I wanted him to say we could be more. Not abstractly. Not in a ‘this would be nice in another life’ way. I wanted to try.” My throat tightened. “And I didn’t just take for once, which was good. I think. Right?”

Rachel tilted her head. “Why didn’t you tell him that?”

“We’re incompatible.” The word sat heavy between us. “He knows who he is, what he wants, what he can offer. And I—‘’ I broke off, frustrated. “I don’t fit into that without changing something.”