The bus was lonely after having spent the past few weeks sharing car rides with Frazer. Even more so knowing we weren't speaking. It seemed my reluctance to talk with him over the past hour had angered him to the point of exhibiting mutual silence. The real question now was: who was going to break this standoff first?

I didn't hear from him when I got home, though his car was in the driveway.

And he didn't message me all afternoon.

It was only as I laid in bed that night and decided to check his social media again, pondering if I could handle his posts filled with the vilification of me, that I realised I was gone.

All our pictures had disappeared, my name in his bio was removed, his name now changed to Apollo.

Then when I logged into his Facebook—because he had shared his password with me even though I refused to make my own account—his relationship status had changed to single and I was no longer in any record of his timeline.

My heart pounded in my chest at the sight. Had I not been logged in to his account, I would have wondered if I had imagined us all this time.

I opened my message app and stared at our last conversation from this morning, playing through my head multiple ways I could reach out.

All the while, a voice in the back of my head whispered, What if he didn't do this for you? What if he's actually broken up with you?

No... It can't be...

But he didn't tell you he had done this. And he was so adamant he wouldn't. And now he's not even talking to you.

That's because he's just mad at me for not giving him a choice.

In the end, I forced myself to text him, trying to remain cheery instead of letting my insecurities creep in, as if remaining positive would beget a positive outcome.

Me: Thank you for removing our pictures. Sent at 8:44pm.

Frazer: You asked me to. Sent at 9:01pm.

Me: I know. I'm sorry I upset you with it. Sent at 9:02pm.

Frazer: Goodnight, Em. Sent at 9:06pm.

The distance between his messages and the curtness of responses hadn't gone unnoticed. Which was why the worried thoughts wiggled back in, taking forefront, bringing a sting to my eyes and causing my heart to accelerate once more.

Me: Please don't be mad at me. Sent at 9:15pm.

Frazer: I'm not mad at you. I'm just mad and full of regrets. Sent at 9:23pm.

Me: Regrets about being with me? Sent at 9:24pm.

I hated myself for sending it.

I hated even more that I sat there, watching the three dots appear and disappear over the next minute, like a deranged woman.

Though what broke me was when the three dots disappeared entirely, and nothing appeared across the next minute.

A sob tore through as I started to wonder if I finally had done it.

Had I broken us at my request? Should I just have braved the barrage of judgement about to come our way and hoped I could endure the storm of spite that would be directed at me as Frazer rose to success?

Maybe then we wouldn't be where we are tonight, I thought.

Maybe then we wouldn't be almost over... or already over. Or...

"I wanted to say... you look good tonight. No, you look beautiful. You're a—" my phone trilled through my room, taking me by surprise.

Quickly, I answered the call, and Frazer filled my screen. His locks framed his face, the light of his phone illuminated him in the darkness, yet there was no joy in his expression anymore.

Eyes downcast, brows forever furrowed, his eyes gazed through the screen at me in annoyance, in pain, in anguish as he demanded, "How could you say that?"

I shrugged, tilting my head in the hopes he couldn't see how red my eyes felt. "I'm sorry. I just... I was thinking it so I had to ask and—"

"You know how much you mean to me, Em. As if I'd ever regret being with you. Why would you suddenly think that?"

My heart heaved a sigh of relief at his admission, but then the mortification started to meander in at the fact I had sent the message in the first place. "I don't know..." I mumbled.

"No, you do. Tell me so I can make sure you don't think such a ridiculous thought again."

"Well... we fought today."

"It wasn't a fight. Just a disagreement."

"And you didn't text me all evening."

"You didn't text me either."

"And you deleted our pictures without a word."

"You asked me to."

"Yeah, but... Look, I know I sound stupid, okay? I know I asked for this, but it's not like I want it either! I don't want to hide us. I don't want you out there pretending like you're an eligible bachelor just for the sake of other girls to dream about you. I—"

"If you don't want it, if it makes you and me feel miserable, why ask me to do this?"

"Because I can't be the reason you don't succeed," my voice croaked. "How could I live with myself if I held you back from reaching your full potential?"

"You've really got to stop listening to the haters, Em. They don't actually understand me, or us, or what everyone else will think. They also didn't want anything to do with me before I... became popular, or whatever this is. All that matters is that you and I are happy."

"I know. I get it, but I... I can't... I don't..." I spluttered, though the breaths were still coming out rapidly.

"Take a deep breath with me, Em," Frazer then said, and he started to count me through them, until my heart slowed down and I could make it through a sentence again.

"I know I pushed you into this. And on the one hand, I'm so excited to see you soar. I'm so excited I'm in your inner circle and get to watch you rise to great heights so closely. That I get to be the first person you share all your amazing achievements with... But I don't want to be in that spotlight with you. Not yet. Maybe not ever... I don't know. I just... I still struggle to talk to your friends. And I know I'm getting better, and I know that I shouldn't care for the opinions of those who don't know me, but I just don't think I'd cope if I'm forced into that spotlight with you. Especially when it's not about me or us, but your music. And if everyone thinks I'm out of the picture or never was in the picture, then they can focus on you. Then I can observe what comes with the fame and attention. Then I can... make the steps when I feel comfortable. I don't know... And you can just focus on navigating this next stage around your life rather than tackling success and our relationship put under the microscope... Am I making any sense?"

"I get it, Em."

"I'm sorry I'm not a more confident girlfriend."

"No. You're everything you need to be. Perfect as you are. I should have thought a little more when you asked me about how it would affect your anxiety."

I flinched, not liking the label he put on it. Because we never labelled it, as if it were an unspoken rule between us.

"I'll keep you safe from them, okay? Don't second-guess it. Don't worry about it. And when you're ready, I hope you'll take my hand and let me scream to the world about you."

"Okay... Why couldn't you have texted me to tell me you had done it? I had to find it on my own..."

"I don't know... I was kind of hoping if I ignored that I had done it then it wouldn't have happened. I'm hurt about it too, Em."

"I'm sorry."

"Also, I've been bombarded by the guys who think we've actually broken up, so I've been filling them in on the cover story."

"... Is that why you took forever to reply?"

"Of course. Do you think I didn't want to talk to you or something?"

"Yes!"

"Em... I will always want to talk to you. I will always want you."

We continued that call into the late hours of the night, until my dad barged in and grumbled about it being a school night. Then, reluctantly, we bid our goodnights.

My heart, while lingering with the pain of our public separation, had been mended for now with his whispered promises of desire and adoration, of an us that continued forever and a flame between us that nothing could stamp out.

Though we know that eventually came to an end.

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