"Listen," he said, nudging my shoulder. "It's just a game of poker. A few hours, some drinks, easy money. Why do you care so much? You have a girlfriend."
The fact that he even said that told me he knew exactly why I was hesitant. But he was wrong. I didn't care. I would never care. I was with Gigi. And sure, there were some bumps, no, a lot of bumps, in our relationship, but we were fine. I think.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. He made it sound so simple. Like walking into Devin's house—the house where she could walk in at any moment—wouldn't remind me of everything I'd spent months trying to forget.
But Harry wasn't letting this go. And I was tired of him looking at me like I was some wounded animal.
"Fine," I muttered, giving in reluctantly.
Harry blinked. "Fine?"
"Yeah." I sighed, running a hand down my face. "I'll go."
His lips curled into a triumphant smirk. "Knew you'd see the reason."
I grabbed a pillow and chucked it at his head. He dodged it with a laugh, already standing up.
"Let's go before you change your mind."
I sighed again but pushed myself up from the couch. This was a bad idea. I knew it. But for some reason, I found myself grabbing my jacket anyway.

.❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。

Walking into Devin's house felt oddly good.
For nearly a year, I had every excuse in the book not to come. I was busy. I had late studio sessions. I was out of town. Sometimes, I just didn't answer the invite at all.
But then Harry showed up at my place tonight, practically dragging me here with that smug look that told me he wasn't taking no for an answer.
But the second I walked through Devin's front door, it was like nothing had changed. The same spot on the couch was open for me, the same whiskey was poured into my glass, and the same effortless talks filled the air.
We were so engrossed in conversation that at some point, poker had been completely forgotten. Instead, we were just drinking and talking shit, like we always used to.
I leaned back against the couch, nursing my drink as Devin recounted a night we had in Miami last summer.
"Bro, I swear to God, I turn around for two seconds, and this dude is already in the DJ booth, trying to change the playlist," Devin said, shaking his head. "Security damn near tackled him."
"I don't know why he thought it was a good idea to do that." I chuckled.
"Wait, wait, wait," Harry blurted, setting his drink down. "Who are we talking about?"
"D'Angelo. You don't remember?"
Harry's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah. That tracks."
I shook my head, laughing. "Man, why does he always think he's in charge of the music?"
"Because he's delusional," Devin said. "Zayn had to bribe the club to let us stay. Shit was ridiculous."
Harry smirked. "And yet, somehow, you were the messier one by the end of the night."
Devin groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Okay, let's not talk about that part."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Nah, we definitely need to talk about that."
I hadn't realized how much I had missed this—just sitting around, drinking, talking shit without worrying about anything else.
Devin easily could've brought it up. With everything going viral, I wouldn't have blamed him if he had. But he didn't. He just congratulated me on the song and kept it moving. That was one thing about Devin—he was a humble guy. He never involved himself in unnecessary drama, even when he could have.