"So, I might actually have a date lined up for this weekend," Zach dropped casually into the quiet room, making me look up from the book I’d been pretending to read.
Hours had slipped by since breakfast, and I’d been juggling a string of calls, but now, sprawled across our L-shaped sofa, we were both in that rare, calm moment where the world outside felt distant.
"And why, pray tell, am I only hearing this now?" I asked, my brow arching in mock offense, though there was a tiny sting beneath. We usually shared everything — I knew more about his love life than most people knew about their own families. Yet here he was, dropping this bomb out of the blue.
Zach’s face knotted with awkwardness, like he wished the words could disappear before they even left his mouth. "Because," he stammered, took a shaky breath, "it’s with Danny."
The name hit me like an unexpected wave, sharp and sudden. My book slipped from my hands, forgotten, as I sat upright, eyes wide. "Wait, what?!" I exclaimed, disbelief tinting my voice. "After everything he did? Why in the world would you want to see him again?" My mind raced, trying to understand the logic — or lack thereof — behind this decision.
Zach slumped a little, his expression a mix of guilt and frustration. "I tried to hint at it this morning," he confessed, shifting uneasily. "I said I missed him."
I scoffed, half amused, half exasperated. "A hint would be something like, ‘Hey, I’m thinking of going out with my ex.’ Not tickling me while muttering about missing him, expecting me to guess you’re actually setting up a date!" I breathed out, catching my breath after the mini-rant. "Look, I get that it’s your business—"
"Of course it’s my business," he cut in sharply. "You’re my best friend."
"Right, and I just don’t want you to get hurt," I said, softening my tone as we locked eyes, both desperate to be understood without causing more pain. "I love you, Zach. And I saw what he did to you."
He sighed, voice barely above a whisper. "He apologized. Said it was a mistake he regrets. But I’m not rushing back in—I told him we’ll take it slow."
That gave me a sliver of hope. "Okay, slow is better," I nodded, trying to stay optimistic. "Maybe starting fresh could work." But deep down, a gnawing worry twisted in my gut. "Honestly? I think you’re letting your heart lead and your head’s trailing behind."
Zach smiled faintly, a dimple appearing as he gave me that crooked grin I’d come to adore. "You’re not going to sugarcoat it, are you?"
I returned the smile briefly before growing serious. "You’re in love with him. You miss him. And I get that—love isn’t something you switch off. I just worry Danny knows how much you care and might use that."
He listened intently, nodding, eyes glossy. "If it’s something you really want, I’m here for you," I assured him, squeezing his hand. "No matter what."
"Thanks, babe," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "You’re right. I know it, but my heart’s begging for this."
Curious, I asked, "What’s your gut telling you?"
He let out a bitter laugh. "Run. Fast. And don’t look back. I think this is just a rebound."
I frowned deeply. "Rebound?"
Zach’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. He shifted, crossing his legs in those skinny jeans he swore were a second skin. One hand raked through his slicked-back sandy hair, lips pressing together in his familiar nervous gesture. "Danny and, well, pig-face broke up," he said quietly. "Danny claims he ended it because he misses me, but I checked pig-face’s page, and he’s already got a new guy."
The nickname made me choke back a laugh—‘pig-face’ suited Gary perfectly. That ridiculous nose alone. From what Zach was saying, it sounded like Danny was chasing a rebound, but Zach didn’t want to face that reality because he still wanted Danny.
"Honey," I breathed, scooting closer so I could wrap him in a hug. I fought back the urge to poke fun at Danny’s misfortune—karma, right? Zach returned the embrace, though he stayed seated while I perched on my knees beside him, leaning my head against his. I didn’t need words. We both knew he was burying his head in the sand, but maybe this was the only way he’d learn.
"I’m here," I whispered. "You’re not alone in this."
Tears slipped down his cheeks as he clung to me. "You’re the best friend a guy could ask for," he said, voice cracking.
My lips curved in a gentle smile. "I know," I teased, rolling my eyes though my heart felt full. "Now, let’s switch off our phones for a bit, order some Chinese, and make fun of the worst chick flicks we can find."
His bloodshot eyes brightened with a genuine smile. "I love you so much," he said simply.
Later, the movie was cheesier than I’d expected — the kind of ridiculous humor that made us giggle uncontrollably. Our bellies were full from the takeout, the empty containers lazily scattered on the coffee table in front of us.
We sat side by side, shoulders brushing beneath the leopard print blanket draped over our laps. Each of us nursed a sneaky beer with dinner — not enough to get tipsy, but just enough to relax before the inevitable need to wake our phones for work.
By the time the credits rolled, Zach looked lighter, the weight of the afternoon’s conversation lifted somewhat. Fingers crossed the mood would last.
"Gosh," Zach said, reaching behind the sofa to flick on the lamp, and the sudden brightness made us both blink. "I haven’t laughed that hard in forever."
"Same here," I agreed, squinting as my eyes adjusted. My muscles ached, cramped from curling up for so long, so I kicked off the blanket and stretched out.
Without thinking, I slid off the sofa, the cold wood floor greeting my right arm, while the left side of me rested on the soft fur rug. It was oddly comforting — maybe I was just a weirdo after all.
"Weirdo," Zach snorted from above.
"Don’t judge," I shot back with a yawn. Watching movies always made me sleepy — probably the eye strain. I felt like drifting off right there and then.
Zach chuckled softly, the kind of tender sound that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. For a moment, the worries seemed distant, replaced by the simple joy of friendship and quiet company.