He stood near the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, slightly apart from the crowd, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, wearing that same damn flannel he always wore. The one l’d stolen more times than I could count.

Then I noticed it.

His hair.

Or, rather, what was left of it.

His hair was gone. Buzzed. Almost military-short, stripped down to nothing but a shadow of what used to be there.

The soft, messy strands I’d run my fingers through during his panic attack, the ones I’d tugged when he annoyed me, the ones I’d braided once just to piss him off—gone.

I hated it. I hated how sharp it made his features look, how it made his jawline stand out more, made his green eyes seem sharper, colder. I hated that it made him look older.

I hated that I suddenly wanted to touch it anyway.

Fighting against the painful ache in my chest, I swallowed.

Why?

Why would he do that?

I wanted to ask him. I wanted to march across the room, grab him by the shoulders, and demand an explanation.

But I couldn’t move.

I took a shaky breath, casting a quick glance at Jamal, who was beside Blake, smirking in my direction, clearly amused by something. I didn’t know what it was—maybe it was the look on my face, or maybe it was the way Blake looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

But before I could even process the situation, before I could say a word, a shriek pierced through the air.

“JAMAL!”

Blake flinched at the volume of it, but Jamal just grinned, completely unbothered.

Tiffany stormed across the living room, pushing past a couple making out against the staircase, her eyes practically on fire. Her drink sloshed in her hand, but she didn’t seem to care about the mess she was making as she closed in on Jamal.

He tilted his head just enough to catch Blake’s eyes. “Oh no,” he mouthed, amused. “I’ve been caught.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here!” Tiffany screeched, her voice cutting through the noise of the party like a blade.

“Damn, Tiff.” Jamal laughed. “You say that like you think you have any actual authority over me.”

“I do,” she shot back. “I literally told you not to come. Jamal, I swear to God, if you don’t leave⁠—”

“Ohhh,” he dragged out the syllable. “You swear to God? Damn, now I’m scared.”

I blinked, torn between amusement and horror.

Blake sighed beside him, rubbing a hand over his freshly buzzed head before muttering, “I told you this was a bad idea.”

That was when Tiffany turned her attention to Blake.

“And you,” she snapped, jabbing a finger in his direction. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Blake grimaced, already looking exhausted. “I⁠—”