IT'S JUST A CONVERSATION.. RIGHT?

...Xander’s Apartment | 1:42 AM...

The room smells like smoke and leftover tequila.

His shift ended an hour ago, and he hasn’t even bothered to shower.

Phone screen’s still lit.

Still on her chat.

He should sleep.

Or eat.

Or literally anything else.

Instead, he reads her last message for the fourth time.

She feels so much. So freely.

He barely knows what he feels most days.

He lights a cigarette.

He only smokes when something’s in his head and refuses to leave.

...Memory – Earlier That Night | Behind the Bar...

It was just another shift.

Fake laughs. Loud music. People are drunk on their own drama.

Then his phone buzzed.

He ignored it at first—work mode.

But when he saw her name light up the screen, he checked it under the bar.

Her reply made him pause.

Then grin. Barely. But it counted.

She was different.

Because she changed a lot since the last time he talked to her.

They knew each other for a long time, but they haven't had this Deep conversation

...Back in Present...

He types a message.

Xander:

Can I ask what the quote says?

He doesn’t know why he’s asking.

He doesn’t care about quotes.

But she mentioned it, and it stuck.

Which is weird.

He’s not good with feelings. Or people who expect things.

But she hasn’t expected anything so far.

She’s just… there. Existing in his world like background music he didn’t know he liked until he listened.

He lights another cigarette and leaves the chat open.

No pressure.

No commitment.

Just a conversation.

Probably.

...Phone buzzes....

Lia:

“‘Survive whatever is trying to kill you.’

That’s the quote.”

No emoji. No context.

Just that.

Xander stares at it longer than he means to.

Then replies:

Xander:Did it?

Lia:

Still trying.

But I’m winning so far.

He stares at the screen.

That should feel like too much.

But instead, it feels… right.

He doesn’t reply. Not yet.

He just closes the chat, finishes his cigarette, and lets the silence sit with him.

Like her words are still in the room.

Lingered.

...The next day passes with no messages....

Not from her.

Not from him.

But her words still burn somewhere in the back of his mind.

“Still trying. But I’m winning so far.”

He thinks of the scars he never bothered to cover.

The ones no tattoo could hide.

The kind that ink couldn’t compete with.

That night, he scrolls through their old messages.

The first conversation—half teasing, half testing boundaries.

Talk of piercings, of tattoos, of pain and permanence.

Lia: What’s your first tattoo?

He hadn’t replied back then.

Too many ways to answer.

Too many truths buried under ink.

But tonight, he doesn’t feel like talking about ink.

Instead, he types:

Xander: What do you sound like when you laugh?

The message hangs there. Bare, strange, a little too honest.

She reads it, but doesn’t respond immediately.

He thinks he’s gone too far.

Then—

LIA: Like I forgot I had reasons not to.

He stares at it.

No emoji. No explanation.

Just like her.

Xander: That’s either the most beautiful or the saddest thing I’ve read all week.

Lia: Probably both.

He exhales slowly.

Almost like she reached through the screen and tugged something loose in his chest.

Lia: You? What do you sound like when you mean something, but don’t say it out loud?

It’s her turn to ask the too-much question.

He doesn’t know how to answer that.

So he sends a voice note instead—

Just a quiet breath. A half-laugh.

Then: “Like this, I guess.”

She listens.

Replies with nothing but:

LIA: Yeah. That sounds about right.

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