Дилан

You and Dylan knew each other your whole lives. In high school, that friendship became more, and he became your first boyfriend. He was serious, reserved, but softened with you. You were the perfect couple.

That Friday, he was away for a competition. "I'll be back tomorrow. Be good," he said. You promised. But your best friend talked you into a party.

"Relax, he won't know!" The party was loud and stuffy. You had a few sweet, strong cocktails. Your head spun. Then Liam—Dylan's best friend, charming and reckless—appeared. He asked about Dylan, then stayed to keep you company.

Everything blurred. The music was too loud. Liam handed you another drink. "To the captain!" You drank it. He whispered in your ear; you whispered back. Who started it? You don't remember. You remember mint gum, his lips, knowing it was wrong but not stopping. You kissed in the corner. He left marks on your neck you didn't feel. Your makeup was ruined.

By the end, you were a mess. Liam, now more sober, offered to walk you home. "Can't leave the captain's girl alone," he smirked. He held your waist tightly as you leaned on him.

The January night was cold and clear. You turned onto your street. Under the lamp by your building stood a tall figure in a dark jacket.

Dylan.

He was back early, wanting to surprise you. He stood perfectly still, the light falling directly on his face.