TheWriteGuy
You just put into words everything I’ve never been able to.
The three dots blinked back almost instantly.
ReadToLiv
That’s why I like talking to you. You’ve helped me not feel stupid for admitting my feelings, and for being okay to let all of who I am come out.
I read her last message three times, warmth curling low in my belly, my thumb hovering uselessly above the keyboard. No one had ever told me I helped them feel like they could just be themselves. Usually, I was the guy people expected to perform—to play the role, keep up the confidence, never let anything crack through.
But not her.
My reply came slower this time, not because I didn’t know what to say, but because I didn’t want to ruin it.
TheWriteGuy
You’ve done that for me too. Maybe more than you realize.
I hit send before I could second-guess it, and when the screen lit again, her dots blinking, my pulse picked up, thudding in my ears.
ReadToLiv
Maybe we both found the right person to stop pretending with.
My chest tightened, not in a painful way, but in a way that made it impossible to look away from her words. I read them again and again, each time the meaning sinking a little deeper.
For a long time, I just sat there on the bench, phone balanced in my palm, staring at it like maybe her message would disappear if I blinked. My muscles were tired from practice, my hair still damp, but all I felt was this strange lightness pressing against my ribs. Maybe this was what it felt like to breathe for real.
The thought scared me almost as much as it calmed me. Because if she was the right person to stop pretending with, then it meant there was no going back. No slipping into the easy version of myself I showed the world.
And the truth? I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to keep pretending.
I locked my phone and shoved it into the pocket of my hoodie, pushing to my feet. The world around me was already moving forward—the low buzz of traffic, the sun climbing higher over the rooftops—but I felt like I’d just stepped into a different version of it. One where maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to hide in the way I always had.
But the more I let myself feel this connection withReadToLiv, the more tangled everything became.
I wanted to tell her she was right, that she’d becomethe one person who made me stop pretending, but then my mind drifted to Livvi.
Livvi, who made me laugh with just a single arched brow, who got under my skin without even trying. Livvi, who I couldn’t stop thinking about when I was supposed to be focused on swimming or making the Olympic team or literally anything else. Livvi, who I was beginning to not have to pretend with either.
The crazy part was, the connection wasn’t all that different. With Livvi, I wanted to be near her every second, to pull her into my orbit and not let her go. WithReadToLiv, she already was in my orbit, steady and constant, pulling truths out of me I didn’t even know I was capable of saying.
And yet, somehow, the feelings were spilling over into each other. How could I crave them both?
It wasn’t fair—to either of them. Because sooner or later, I’d have to face it. And the thought of making that choice, of potentially hurting either one, was enough to make a sharp pang lance through me. Equally as bad, the idea of having to choose at all seemed impossible—as if any decision would shatter something precious in both directions.
My shoulders tightened without me realizing it, and my stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and longing. My fingers itched to type, to say something to one of them, to try and untangle the knot of emotions twisting me up from the inside. I could feel the pulse in my temples, a steady reminder that my heart was divided, not knowing how to resolve it.
I leaned back against the bench, letting out a slow, frustrated breath, hoping the morning sunlight and the hum of traffic would ground me, give me some sense of normalcy. But the more I tried to push the thoughts aside, the more insistent they became, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
I was so caught up in the turmoil of it all that I didn’t notice Ledger and Ridge coming to join me until Ledger’s voice cut through my fog.
“Hey, you sure you’re okay?” his voice sounded genuinely concerned this time, not full of his teasing like usual.
“Yeah, we thought you’d be home by now, eating your weight in eggs and oatmeal,” Ridge said, looking as concerned as Ledger sounded.
I blinked, coming back to the present, and realized just how obvious I probably looked—slouched on the bench, shirt damp from morning practice, eyes glued to my phone like it held the answers to the universe.