“What’s changed? Why are you acting like . . . this?”
“Like what?”
“Polite,” I spit, like the word is personally offensive. He’s acting like a watered down version of himself. Like we were never friends to begin with.
“I know it’s hard to believe, Nova, but I can be a polite, mature person.”
“Not with me,” I say. “With me, you’re just yourself. You don’t try to be anything other than Charlie.”
I'M CRYING.
— Feb 26, 2024 01:03AM
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