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“Not try. Promise.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, water dripping down both our faces and it’s clear just how much this promise means to him.

“Promise,” I say, even though some part of me is already bracing for the ways it could fall apart.

He kisses me then, like he’s trying to seal the words into an agreement I can’t break. And I let him, because I want to go to Seattle, even if some part of me is scared to.

We get out and get dressed before he starts packing. I hate knowing we’re going to Bloomington today, especially to separate houses. I grab his bag from by the door while he does one last sweep of my apartment, patting his pockets for his phone and wallet, and by the time we’re both standing at the door, jackets on, there’s nothing left to do except actually walk out of it.

“Ready?” he asks.

“No,” I say honestly. “But let’s go anyway.”

The Jeep’s cold when we climb in, our breath fogging instantly, and I crank the heat while Evan buckles in beside me. He feels too far away from me already.

We’re a few miles into the drive, the city thinning out into flatter, quieter roads, before he breaks the silence.

“Can I ask you another question? You don’t have to answer if it’s too much.”

“Go for it.”

“Why do you still go home? Knowing how it’s going to go, why do you keep doing it to yourself? I know families are complicated, but it sounds like yours is extra shitty.”

It’s a question I’ve tried to make sense of over and over again myself.

“I don’t know, honestly.” I keep my eyes on the road, so I don’t have to see the expression on his face.

“I just hate knowing that you going home today isn’t going to be a good experience.”

For some reason, going feels like I’m letting him down. I’ve never had someone care this way before. Josh knows about my family, he cares, but mostly, he lets me navigate my relationship with them on my own. He listens when I talk, and he always supports me, but after a certain point, it wasn’t fair to him to continue dumping my family shit on him. Especially when it’s now my choice to keep showing up.

“I think…” I start, digging the truth out, no matter how pathetic it makes me feel. “They’re the only people who’ve known me my whole life. Every version of me. Even the ones they didn’t like. If I cut them off, it feels like cutting off part of myself or something. Like I’d be erasing the kid I used to be or giving up on us, and he didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know, it’s dumb.”

“It’s not. Not at all.” His hand finds mine over the console. “It sounds like you just wanted to be loved, and that’s as human as it gets.”

“Feels dumb, though. Especially now.” I glance at him, quick, before looking back at the road. “I don’t know. I’m a little too old to rebel like I used to. It used to be easier to just act out and pretend I didn’t give a fuck instead of actually feeling any of it, but I’m trying to be better.”

“I can totally see you as a rebel.” Evan smirks. “What’d you do? Tell me.”

“You really want to hear about teenage Marcus?”

“Desperately.”

I huff out something close to a laugh. “Fine. Let’s see… There was this one time, junior year, my parents told me I couldn’t go to some show downtown. Nothing crazy, just some local bands at an all-ages venue. But my mom made this whole thing out of it. So I waited until they were asleep, snuck out my window, took the bus down there by myself, and didn't get home till like three in the morning.”

“Marcus.”

“I know. Now I get that I was young, but at the time, I didn’t care. I wanted to go.”

“Did they catch you?”

“Obviously. But I didn’t realize it at first.” I shake my head at the memory. “As soon as I got in bed, I thought I was in the clear, but then they came into my room. My mom didn’t yell, which was somehow worse. She just did this whole speech about how humiliating it would be if people found out how I was going to ruin my reputation before I even had one. My dad didn’t say anything at all which is on par for him. Just went back to bed once she was done.”

“That’s insane. You were what, sixteen?”

“Something like that. After that I just started doing it more. Sneaking out, smoking weed, drinking, whatever felt like the opposite of whatever they wanted from me. Got suspended a couple times. It was a way to feel like I had some control over something, I think, since I didn’t have much in any other part of my life.”

“It’s crazy they blamed you. Don’t they get that you acted out because of how they treated you?”

“Of course not, but yeah. That’s a fun fact about me. A lot of rebellion with a fuck-you attitude because of my parents.”