62. Chapter 57 #4
The voices around him were suddenly too loud. Too sharp. Every sound cut into his ears, like someone had turned up the background noise until it was screaming inside his skull.
A door creaked open, laughter—too shrill. Too real. The world felt just a fraction of a se cond away, just out of reach, while he stood here, phone in hand, destroying himself.
His heart pounded against his ribcage—wild, painful, restless. It wasn’t real yet. He could still change his mind. He could still ignore the emptiness in his chest, the black, sticky mass spreading inside him, reaching for him, threatening to swallow him whole.
It felt wrong.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe it had to feel wrong to be right.
His thumb pressed down.
Sent.
Bas inhaled slowly, holding the air in his lungs for a moment, as if trying to preserve the pain, before exhaling—along with everything he could have been.
There was no going back.
This is the only way.
He slid the phone back into his pocket. As if nothing had happened. As if nothing inside him had cracked. As if nothing inside him had gone dark.
But the emptiness was back.
It’s the right thing to do.
At that exact moment, Evin turned toward him, her eyes still glowing, her smile a soft shimmer in the darkness that was swallowing him whole. Her gaze sought his—warm, alive.
And Bas smiled back.
As if nothing had happened …
__________
Evin
N eon lights reflected in the window, the world outside moving on—but here, in this small bubble of greasy food, tired conversations, and the low hum of music trickling from the speakers, it felt like time had paused for just a moment.
Evin leaned back, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the paper sleeve of her straw.
The taste of salt and ketchup still lingered on her tongue, but the hunger had finally subsided.
Her muscles felt pleasantly heavy, the exhaustion from the performance melting into a quiet sense of satisfaction.
Milka sat across from her, talking nonstop about one of the dancers from the ensemble—something about his ridiculously long eyelashes and how she was sure he had been torturing her with lingering glances on purpose. Bellamy just smirked, shaking his head as he dipped a fry into his BBQ sauce.
Bas sat beside Evin, one hand loosely wrapped around his glass, his expression calm but not detached. He was listening, maybe more than he let on.
And then, the words just slipped out.
"I got an offer for a summer camp in London."
For a second, the words hung in the air as if they had lost their way, as if they were still searching for their place in this conversation.
Milka froze mid-motion. "What?!"
Evin flinched slightly when Milka smacked the table. The ketchup on her fry teetered dangerously close to the edge of the little cardboard tray. "Say that again."
She grinned, feeling her heart beat a little faster. "The Royal Academy of Dance offered me a spot in their summer camp. Ms. Wagner told me after the performance."
"Oh my gosh!" Milka scooted forward as if getting physically closer would make the news more real. "This is huge, Evin! London! Are you messing with me right now?"
"I swear, I didn’t make it up."
"And?" Milka gasped. "Are you going?"
Evin opened her mouth, then closed it again. "I don’t know yet."
Milka’s brows furrowed. "What do you mean, you don’t know?"
"I just… I never really thought about doing something like this. It came out of nowhere."
"Evin, this isn’t something you hesitate about. This is London. This is a massive opportunity."
"I know."
"So?" Bellamy chimed in, raising a brow. "What’s stopping you?"
Evin hesitated. "I… I don’t know. I think I just need some time to figure it out."
"What’s there to figure out?" Milka leaned back against the booth, arms crossed. "This is the freaking Royal Academy! It’s not like they’re offering you a week at some summer camp in Wisconsin."
"Milka."
Bas’ voice was calm, but it cut through the excitement like a sharp blade.
Milka rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. I’m just excited. But you can’t tell me this isn’t insane?" She shot a look at Bellamy, who only shrugged.
"Of course, it’s insane," he said before taking a bite of his fry.
Evin suddenly felt a pair of eyes on her and turned her head.
Bas had been quiet the entire time. He just sat there, his arm draped lazily over the back of the booth, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. His face was unreadable—too unreadable. He was looking at her. And she couldn’t tell what was going through his mind.
"London, huh?" he said finally.
Evin nodded slowly. "Yeah."
"Crazy." He leaned back, as if that was the end of the conversation.
For a moment, a silence stretched between them.
And then, Bas set his phone aside, took a sip of his Coke, and said with that same casual tone:
"By the way, I got an internship in New York."
Bellamy raised his brows. Milka stopped fidgeting with her napkin.
Evin blinked.
"What?"
"Yeah." He shru gged like it was no big deal. "My dad helped me get it. It’s at an investment firm. All summer. Good opportunity."
"New York?" Milka echoed.
"Mhm."
"Holy shit."
Evin felt her heart skip—not with excitement, but with something more restless, something unsettled. "Wow," she said slowly. "That… that’s huge."
"Yeah," he replied.
Bellamy glanced at him sideways but said nothing.
Evin waited for Bas to say more. To say something about the distance, about the summer, about them.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he just looked at her, as if waiting for something.
So she did the only thing that made sense.
She smiled.
"I’m happy for you, Bas."
Milka shot her a quick look, as if expecting a different reaction.
Bas’ lips twitched slightly.
"Yeah," he said. "Me too."
Bellamy’s gaze flickered between them, his forehead creasing slightly.
Milka let out a quiet huff. "Okay, what’s going on here?"
"Nothing." Bas took another sip of his Coke, sliding his phone across the table. "Absolutely nothing."
And yet, something hung in the air—something unspoken, something neither of them was willing to name.
__________
Sebastia n
S he hadn’t said it.
No This is going to be hard or How are we going to make this work? No trace of fear, no hint that this meant anything to her.
Instead, she had smiled. She had been happy for him.
Bas pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, took another sip of his Coke and nodded as Bellamy asked something about the internship.
New York and London.
Two cities, an ocean between them.
Milka and Bellamy kept talking, bouncing their thoughts back and forth, discussing opportunities and possibilities. But Bas was only half listening.
It had been the perfect moment to leave things unspoken.
The perfect excuse for a breakup without having to say a single word.
No drama. No arguments.
So why did it feel so fucking awful?