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“I'd be so fucking good to you, Mark.”

“I know you would.”

He switches from hypotheticals to promises.

“You'll never ever have to dilute yourself for me. I'll never make you hide.”

I want so badly to believe it, to melt into those arms right here in the crowd.

But all I can offer is a breathless nod.

Tears sting as they roll down my face.

“Don't cry,” Olsen implores. “I didn't mean to upset you. Come here.”

My bag slips to the ground.

Heartache is a heavy weight I’ve grown accustomed to carrying.

“I know he was your first,” he soothes. “I get it, it's hard to let go. But Porter…”

“Already has,” I finish. “He’s already let go.”

A hollow grief echoes in my chest, the dam breaking at last.

“I've been watering a dead plant, haven't I?”

Olsen offers refuge, holding me tight as I sob.

“You don't have to choose me, okay? I shouldn't have said that.”

He brushes a tear from my chin.

“But at least choose yourself. Please promise me that.”

I let myself fall.

Down, down, down.

A pain that creeps in like the tide.

“You didn't imagine it,” I whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You didn't imagine it. I've been falling for you too.”

The confession unravels between us.

“Saying goodbye will break me though.”

“And I’ll be right by your side. Even as a friend.”

I take a moment to let it all sink in.

He sweeps a strand of hair from my brow.

“There are different types of goodbyes,” he shrugs. “Not all of them are forever.”