Khloe
I walked back into the office a little lighter than I expected. Not happy, exactly — but not as tangled as I'd been this morning either. Seeing Travis had stirred something old and comforting, like a song you didn't know you missed until it played again.
There was a warmth to him that I had almost forgotten. The kind that didn't need grand gestures or careful planning, just his presence and a few words strung together in his easy, familiar rhythm. He made me laugh. That part hadn't changed.
He teased me about how I still scribbled notes on paper instead of using my phone, about how I still pushed my glasses up in the same distracted way when I was deep in thought. It was disarming, the way he noticed. He always noticed.
And he listened — really listened. When I mentioned my writing, he didn't just nod absently. He asked questions, pressed gently, remembered details I hadn't expected anyone to care about. He asked about my mom too, and though my chest tightened at the mention, the sincerity in his eyes made it easier to talk.
It was… easy. Too easy.
But even as I laughed at his jokes and felt the ease between us, there was something missing. A silence between heartbeats that wasn't there when I was with Xavier.
And that realization was infuriating.
Xavier had shut the door — emotionally, and literally. He had made it clear: professional. Distant. Done. His rules were drawn in permanent ink, and I'd promised myself not to press against them anymore.
Yet, when I saw that keychain sitting on my desk this morning — simple, thoughtful, weighty in its meaning — something in me cracked open.
No note. No explanation. No performance. Just… him.
It wasn't something Travis would have done. He would've brought flowers, a loud gift, a note filled with jokes. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Xavier, on the other hand, was a locked vault, but when he did let something slip through, it meant more than any bouquet ever could.
And that was the problem.
I sat at my desk now, pen tapping against my notepad in a steady rhythm, my eyes glued to the corner of Xavier's closed office door. He hadn't messaged. Hadn't acknowledged the gift. And maybe he wouldn't. That was who he was.
But my heart wouldn't let me lie.
Travis made me feel seen.
Xavier made me feel everything.
And that… scared me more than I wanted to admit.
---
Travis
She hadn't changed.
Same Khloe. A little sharper around the edges, maybe. A little more cautious with her smiles, a little slower to open up. But beneath it all, she was still warm, still vibrant. Still the girl who used to dance around her kitchen in socks while burning every batch of cookies she attempted. Still the one who cried at the end of every book, even the ones that weren't sad, because she felt too deeply for her own good.
God, I'd missed her.
She didn't know it — but I'd always had a thing for her. Back then, it had been buried under layers of friendship, bad timing, and my own fear of ruining what we had. She'd been my closest friend, my safe place, and confessing how I felt seemed like too big a risk.
So I stayed quiet.
And in staying quiet, I lost her.
But seeing her today, laughing at my jokes, letting her guard down just enough to show me the old Khloe beneath the polished version she carried now — I realized I'd never really let her go. I just got good at pretending.
She was different, though. Not in a bad way. She'd grown. She was grounded now, resilient, sharper. Life had hardened her in some ways, but it hadn't taken away her softness. If anything, it made her glow brighter when she allowed herself to.
But I noticed something else, too. Something she probably thought she was hiding well.
She was hurting.
Not from me — from him.
The moment I mentioned Xavier's name, her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. When I made a light joke about him, her smile faltered, just for a second. She carried his shadow with her, even when she was laughing with me. It was there in the pauses, in the way her eyes darted to her phone, in the way she seemed to hold back a piece of herself as though she wasn't entirely free.
It made me angry — not at her, but at him.
Because what kind of man had the attention of someone like Khloe and let her walk around with that heaviness in her chest? What kind of man shut a door in her face when she deserved the world handed to her?
He'd turned her down. That much was clear.
Which meant maybe this was my chance.
I wasn't sure yet what I wanted — not exactly. Part of me wanted to protect her, to be the friend I had always been. But another part, a louder part, wanted more. Wanted the chance I hadn't taken back then.
And one thing was certain: if Xavier couldn't see what he had standing right in front of him…
He'd lose her.
And this time, I wasn't about to stand by and watch from the sidelines.
---
Xavier
The room was finally quiet.
The lingering hum of voices, the firm handshake, the papers sliding back and forth across the desk — it was all over now. The contracts lay neatly stacked before me, each page signed and sealed. Another deal secured. Another win on paper.
It should've felt satisfying. It usually did. But today, the ink drying on those pages wasn't where my attention lingered.
It was on her.
Khloe.
She had sat there earlier, quiet but present, her hands folded neatly in her lap as though she were trying not to fidget. She didn't speak, didn't interfere, but her presence filled the room all the same.
And then Travis walked in.
I wasn't blind. I saw the way she looked at him — familiar, comfortable. I saw the laughter that slipped so easily from her lips in his presence. Laughter that I'd only ever seen in flashes with me, usually when I let my guard down just enough to say something unintentionally funny.
With me, she was careful.
With him, she was free.
And I hated that I noticed.
I leaned back in my chair now, twirling my pen idly between my fingers as I stared out at the skyline. The city glowed beneath the fading sun, sharp lines of glass and steel catching the light. Normally, it grounded me. Reminded me of my focus, my purpose. But right now, it only mocked me.
Because no matter how much I tried to ignore it, she was in my head.
The keychain had been a mistake. I knew it the moment I placed it on her desk. An impulse I couldn't explain. I didn't do gifts. I didn't do gestures. But with her, sometimes I acted before I thought. And now it lingered like evidence of something I couldn't afford to feel.
She probably read too much into it already. She always did. That was the problem with Khloe — she felt everything, even when I didn't want her to. Especially when I didn't want her to.
And now, Travis was back.
Travis, with his effortless charm, his familiar history with her, his ability to make her smile without trying. He was the safe choice for her. The one who would give her what she deserved — lightness, laughter, uncomplicated love.
Maybe that was better for her. Maybe it was what she needed.
I closed the file in front of me with deliberate finality, as though sealing it shut would somehow seal away the thoughts clawing at my chest.
"This is nothing," I muttered under my breath, the words sharp in the empty office. "It has to be nothing."
Because if it wasn't — if it was more — then I was standing on the edge of something dangerous. Something that could undo not just me, but her too.
And I couldn't afford that.
Neither of us could.
So I told myself the only truth that kept me steady:
Khloe was nothing.
She had to be.
Even if every part of me knew it was a lie.