Boyfriend — The

“Try.”

The first week was the hardest. Alex caught himself reaching for his phone to send Sam a meme, or stopping by a café to buy Sam’s favorite pastry before remembering there was no one to give it to. He slept badly, dreamed of Sam’s laugh—the real one, before the crack appeared.

Sam was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “I don’t know how.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been thinking… maybe we’re not right for each other.” The Boyfriend

He closed the door softly behind him.

He played a new chord, one he’d been learning. It wasn’t perfect, but it was honest.

Alex wanted to argue, to list all the reasons Sam was wrong. But he’d felt it too, hadn’t he? That subtle distance, like standing on opposite sides of a door that was slowly closing. “Try

The breakup wasn’t dramatic. No yelling, no thrown dishes, no storming out. Alex simply gathered his things—his hoodie from the back of the chair, a toothbrush from the bathroom, the small succulent he’d brought over three months ago. At the door, he paused.

Alex tried harder. He cooked Sam’s favorite pasta, bought tickets to a band they both loved, showed up at Sam’s door with a six-pack on a rainy Tuesday. Sam would smile—that old, bright smile—and for an hour, things felt normal. Then the smile would falter, and Sam’s eyes would drift to the window, or his phone, or anywhere but Alex’s face.

“Someone has to be.”

Sam laughed—the real laugh, full and warm. “You always were too reasonable.”

They parted ways at the checkout, carrying separate bags to separate cars. Alex didn’t look back. He drove home to his quiet apartment, made himself a cup of coffee—black, the way he actually liked it—and sat down with his guitar.