Will’s in this one. He’s smiling, and his blue eyes are as dark and yet somehow as vivid as I remember. He’s happy as he looks at the camera. Zayne’s next to him—soft blond hair curling around his face, gray eyes swimming with adoration as he looks up at Will, lips pressed to his jaw. Will’s jaw. He’s kissing him. His boyfriend.

Something twists painfully in my chest.

I didn’t mean to go all stalker on Will. But after what he told me last night, and after Mason’s pleas for me to be a little bit more welcoming, I was curious.

I should have figured it was something bad. Something like this.

It didn’t take long to stumble down this rabbit hole. Will’s profile was still mostly private, like it was when I last searched for him years ago. Not that we’re going to think about that.

Other than a few posts and pictures others tagged him in, there’s not much to go by.

The most recent picture of him was one taken by Zayne Marshall from a little over a year ago. If it weren’t for the heart emojis, I would have probably ignored it.

“I don’t know where else to go.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as I remember his words from last night. It caught me off guard. I didn’t expect such raw honesty from the guy I’ve treated like shit since the moment I saw him again. From the person I hurt so deeply all those years ago.

That ache in him spoke to the ache in me. I didn’t stand a chance keeping him away. He creeped in, and now I can’t get him out. He’s there, like a thorn in my side, pulling at me—making me care.

It’s been seven months, give or take, since Zayne Marshall died.

I couldn’t find the obituary, but it’s obvious what happened. No one said it outright in their posts as they mourned the loss of their friend, but there were enough people who shared the Suicide Hotline to at least fill in that missing piece for me.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

I dart my eyes once more over the picture in front of me before closing out the browser and slamming the laptop shut. I toss it to the side.

I curl my legs in and bury my face into my knees. A hollow ache that wasn’t there before eats away at my stomach.

“I don’t know where else to go.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Goddamn him.

God-fucking-damn him.

It’s like he knew exactly what to say. Like he pulled the words right out of my soul, and spat them back at me. Hitting me right where it hurts. Right where I’d fucking feel for him.