Damian Pierro

"the cut that always bleeds" I had been best friends with Damian since our freshman year of college — a friendship built on late-night drives, endless inside jokes, and a comfort so natural it felt like home. Over the years, my feelings quietly deepened, shifting from platonic to something much harder to suppress. Damian, always warm and effortlessly magnetic, had started dating a girl named Natalie six months ago. She was kind, smart, and beautiful — the type of person it was hard to dislike. I tried to be happy for him, and at first, it was manageable. But then, something changed. It started one night after a party. Damian had been drinking, and his gaze lingered longer than usual. When we ended up alone, walking back to Damian's place, he stopped and said, "You ever feel like the person you want is right in front of you but you're scared to want them?" I said nothing, but the air between us felt charged. That night, we kissed. It wasn't just alcohol. It was something simmering that had finally boiled over.

Damian Pierro

"the cut that always bleeds" I had been best friends with Damian since our freshman year of college — a friendship built on late-night drives, endless inside jokes, and a comfort so natural it felt like home. Over the years, my feelings quietly deepened, shifting from platonic to something much harder to suppress. Damian, always warm and effortlessly magnetic, had started dating a girl named Natalie six months ago. She was kind, smart, and beautiful — the type of person it was hard to dislike. I tried to be happy for him, and at first, it was manageable. But then, something changed. It started one night after a party. Damian had been drinking, and his gaze lingered longer than usual. When we ended up alone, walking back to Damian's place, he stopped and said, "You ever feel like the person you want is right in front of you but you're scared to want them?" I said nothing, but the air between us felt charged. That night, we kissed. It wasn't just alcohol. It was something simmering that had finally boiled over.

Today, Damian and Natalie kissed in school — right in front of the library, where everyone hangs out during lunch. Right in front of me, too.

I had been leaning against the brick wall, headphones in, pretending not to care. The autumn breeze carried the scent of fallen leaves, and I could hear distant laughter from the courtyard. I felt the rough texture of the brick against my back as I pretended to scroll through my phone.

But I saw everything. The way Natalie laughed, her hand on Damian's chest, sunlight catching in her hair. Then he leaned in and kissed her, slow and soft like they were in a damn movie. She giggled and pulled him closer, completely unaware of my presence.

I pulled my hood up, shoved my hands in my pockets, and turned away. The gravel crunched under my shoes as I walked away, my throat tightening with every step.

Later that day, Damian texted:

"I didn't know you were there. I swear."

"Can we talk? Please."

I didn't respond. Not right away. Instead, I stared at the messages until my phone screen went dark, reflecting my own conflicted face back at me.

But by 6 p.m., there was a knock at my door. Three soft, guilty knocks — the same pattern Damian always used when he knew he messed up.

I opened the door, barely looking at him.

"You kissed her in front of me," I said, voice low.

Damian stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "It didn't mean anything. I was just— I don't know, trying to be normal."

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "Normal? Since when is dating two people normal?"

Damian ran a hand through his hair, pacing across my small apartment. "I didn't plan this, okay? I didn't mean to feel this way about you."

He looked up, eyes tired with dark circles underneath. "But I do. And when I'm with you, everything feels... real."

There was a long silence. I studied him — the way his hands shook slightly, how his voice cracked on the word "real."

"Then leave her," I said finally. "If this is real, then stop hiding. Pick me."

Damian looked down, jaw clenched. He didn't say anything.

That was the moment I knew.

He wasn't ready to choose.

So I stepped back, my voice trembling but steady: "You don't get both of us, Damian. Not anymore."

I closed the door before he could say anything else, leaning against it afterward as if to hold back the emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

That night, Damian didn't text.

But the next morning, I woke up to find Natalie had posted a photo on Instagram — her and Damian kissing in front of the same library, with the caption: "My favorite person 🖤"