I didn’t remember agreeing to come over. One minute I was walking home from an early shift at the diner, and the next, Jess was on the phone, inexplicably calling instead of texting, and saying, “You’re coming over. Bastien’s making boxed mac and cheese and pretending it’s gourmet again.”

In the background, I could hear Bastien shouting, "It is gourmet! I'm adding scallions and real cheese!"

Tired from a long shift, I had protested weakly. “I’ve got homework,” “I don’t want to intrude,” “I’m not even that hungry,” but Jess wasn’t the type to listen when she’d already decided something.

Now I was sitting cross-legged on a vintage rug that smelled vaguely of Febreze and baby powder, watching Bastien chop green onions like he was Bobby Flay.

The apartment was technically Jess’s; two rooms, two beds, a life-saving Keurig, and a hallway in a half-crumbling building above a florist’s shop. But Bastien crashed in the guest room often enough that he had a designated toothbrush and mug. There were hand-scrawled chord progressions taped to the walls, music and Buffy the Vampire Slayer posters, a keyboard wedged against the window with a mess of music equipment, and a thrift-store disco ball hanging from a hook in the living room for no real reason.

I looked around, taking in the energy and the warmth. “This place feels… real.”

Jess raised an eyebrow from the couch. “As opposed to fake?”

“No, I mean… it’s like a movie you live in. Messy, but kind of beautiful.”

Bastien laughed from the stove. “We’ll put that on the lease renewal: ‘Messy but kind of beautiful.’”

Jess handed me a bowl and sat beside me, her leg brushing mine. Bastien joined us a moment later, setting the pot on the floor between us with pride and endearing self-satisfaction.

There wasn’t much talking as we ate; just the quiet comfort of shared space, steam rising from plastic bowls, and the soaring vocals from the Journey album playing on the turntable.

After dinner, Jess pulled out a deck of cards and taught us a convoluted game she insisted was “what everyone played in high school,” even though the rules changed every round. Bastien made fun of her mercilessly, saying that they went to the same high school, but they never played this game. I laughed harder than I had in 161 days.

It wasn’t until later, when the cards were abandoned and the three of us were lying in a sprawl on the rug, staring at the cracked ceiling, that I said, quietly:

“I didn’t think I'd ever have this again.”

Jess rolled her head to look at me. “What?”

“This. Just… being around someone and not wanting to drown them out or get away.”

Bastien shifted beside me. “Not that you didn't try? Jess basically forced you to come over.”

I let out a slight laugh.

“Yeah... but I did come over,” I said, voice softer. “It’s like… most of my life, I’ve wanted to be anywhere but where I was. I couldn't sit still in my skin, you know?”

Neither Jess nor Bastien said anything right away.

Then Jess reached over and flicked my arm. “Well, you’re not getting away from us that easily. You’re stuck with us.”

“Deal with it,” Bastien added, grinning.

I looked up at the ceiling again, heart beating a little faster for reasons I didn’t want to name. The room felt too small and too big all at once. It was the first time since Dean that I didn't feel completely alone.

I thought of a lyric I’d scribbled into my notebook earlier that week:

Here's to our night.
We can watch the stars as they light the sky.
This feels so right…

In that moment, in an apartment that felt like a home, with Jess and Bastien, things did feel right; like watching stars with people who finally saw the same sky again.