Song for this chapter: 5 Seconds Of Summer - Ghost Of You on the multimedia.

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Juls

The dim, warm light of the bar cast a soft glow over the wooden table as Tony and I settled into our usual booth. The noise of clinking glasses and muffled conversations surrounded us, but it felt distant, almost like an echo. I was staring into my beer, watching the bubbles rise to the surface, while Tony's concerned gaze was fixed on me. It was a familiar scene, but tonight, the atmosphere felt different.

Tony broke the silence, his voice a mix of concern and curiosity. "Hey, man, you've been pretty quiet tonight. What's going on?"

I took a long, contemplative sip of my drink, letting the bitter taste linger before I spoke. "It's about Sign," I began, my voice rough with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Tony's eyebrows raised slightly, but he kept his tone even. "I see. What happened?"

I ran a hand through my hair, the frustration evident in my gesture. "We had this setup, you know? The whole fake dating thing to save face with the public. I thought maybe there was a chance—some small chance—that things could go back to how they were. But it turns out... it was just a reminder of what's gone."

Tony listened intently, his eyes fixed on me as if trying to understand the full extent of my predicament. "So, you talked. What did she say?"

I took another sip of my beer, my gaze lost in the amber depths of the glass. "She said that those eight years we had together... they drained her. She doesn't want to revisit what we had because it was exhausting for her."

Tony's expression was thoughtful as he leaned in slightly. "And how did that make you feel?"

I shook my head, a bitter smile tugging at my lips. "It's like a punch to the gut. I realized how badly I messed up back then. I kept her waiting, made her come to L.A. from Rhode Island when I was completely drunk and couldn't be found. I didn't appreciate her then, and now I'm left with this huge regret."

Tony nodded, a look of sympathy crossing his face. "It sounds like you've had a real awakening about the past. But you're with Nat now. What does this mean for your relationship with her?"

That was the question I'd been dreading. "That's the thing," I said, my voice heavy with conflict. "I don't want to hurt Nat. I really care about her, but I'm torn. I've been feeling like I should try to fix things with Sign, but I don't want to be unfair to Nat. I don't know what to do."

Tony's gaze was steady, and he spoke carefully, choosing his words with precision. "Juls, if you still have strong feelings for Sign, you owe it to both Nat and yourself to be honest. It's not fair to Nat to stay in a relationship when your heart isn't fully in it. You need to figure out what you really want without dragging Nat into your confusion."

I stared into my glass, the weight of Tony's words sinking in. The reflection of the bar lights flickered in the beer, mirroring the turbulence inside me. "So, you're saying I should break up with Nat?"

Tony shrugged, a gesture of resignation mixed with a hint of compassion. "It's not just about breaking up. It's about being fair. If your heart is still with Sign, then you need to be upfront with Nat. It's not right to keep her in the dark while you sort through your feelings."

I sighed heavily, the weight of regret and confusion pressing down on me. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, especially not Nat. But I need to figure this out. I don't know how to make it right."

Tony placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Take the time you need. Just be honest with everyone involved. It's the only way to move forward."

I took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "Thanks, Tony. I guess I needed to hear that."

Tony gave a small, encouraging nod. "Anytime, man. Just remember, you're not alone in this."

As I sipped my drink, the familiar comfort of the bar seemed to offer little solace. The road ahead was murky, filled with unresolved emotions and difficult decisions. My heart was still tangled in the past, and I knew I needed to confront these feelings head-on.

The thoughts of Sign and the mistakes I made with her weighed heavily on me. I thought about how I had treated her during those years, how my actions had pushed her away. The regret was a constant companion, gnawing at me every time I tried to find some clarity. And now, as I faced the reality of my feelings, I knew that I had to make a choice.

It was clear that I still loved Sign, despite everything that had happened. But with Nat in the picture, I was caught in a complex web of emotions. The love I had for Sign was real and deep, but it was also a love fraught with pain and confusion. And now, as I navigated this turbulent emotional landscape, I had to decide whether to follow my heart or to honor the commitments I had made.

The night stretched on, and as Tony and I continued to talk, I felt a glimmer of clarity amidst the confusion. The journey ahead would be difficult, but I knew I had to face it with honesty and integrity. The choices I made now would define not only my future but the futures of those I cared about. And for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of determination to make things right, no matter how challenging the path might be.

***

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the building settling. I staggered slightly as I stumbled into my living room, my mind fogged by the effects of the whiskey I'd been drinking. I knew I should have gone to bed, but a persistent urge drove me to find something I hadn't thought about in years.

I slouched over to my desk, pushing aside empty bottles and crumpled papers until my hand landed on the flash drive I had almost forgotten. The drive was small, simple—a plain piece of tech that had once been a repository of some of the most cherished moments of my life. I plugged it into my laptop, the soft click of the USB port barely audible.

The screen blinked to life, and the familiar file structure appeared. I clicked on the folder labeled "Memories." Inside were dozens of photos and videos, each one a fragment of the past that I had tried so hard to move on from.

As the images loaded, I was instantly transported back to a time when life felt simpler. There was a photo of Sign and me from prom night—her in a flowing, elegant gown, her dark hair cascading down her back, and me in a tuxedo that felt like it belonged to someone else. We looked so happy, so full of hope.

I clicked through the folder to our high school graduation. There we were again, this time in caps and gowns, standing side by side with our friends. I remembered the weight of that day—the sense of achievement, but also the uncertainty of the future.

The next set of photos were from various holidays. Christmas, with its glittering lights and festive cheer, and New Year's, where we were captured mid-laughter, our faces illuminated by the sparkling fireworks. There was even a photo of Sign with her dad, and me squeezed in next to them—a snapshot of a family I was once a part of.

A pang of nostalgia hit me as I came across a video clip. It was of Sign crying in our senior year, a result of some silly bet she lost. I could hear her muffled sobs and my attempts to cheer her up, which, judging by the video, involved some seriously bad jokes and impersonations. I could almost hear her laugh again, even through the tearful sobs.

I kept scrolling, and the next video made me chuckle despite myself. It was Sign making fun of me—her playful, teasing tone as she imitated my clumsy dance moves at a party. It was one of those moments that was just so Sign: full of warmth, humor, and a hint of mischievousness.

The memories were overwhelming, each one a testament to the eight years we had together. It felt like I was walking through a gallery of my own history, each picture and video a brushstroke on the canvas of our shared past. The weight of the nostalgia hit me like a freight train. Those eight years were not just a chapter in my life; they were the entire book.

I slumped back into my chair, the alcohol making my limbs heavy. The sense of loss I felt was palpable. Those years, with all their ups and downs, were too significant to just be relegated to the past. The laughter, the tears, the love—how could I simply forget all of it? It wasn't just about the good times or the bad; it was about everything we went through together.

As I stared at the screen, the images and videos felt like a cruel reminder of what I had lost. I wondered if I could ever fully move on from Sign, or if my feelings for her would always linger, a shadow cast by the memories we shared. The realization that those years were too long and too precious to just go to waste gnawed at me, and I was left grappling with the weight of what might have been.

I closed the laptop and sat in the dark, the quiet of the apartment echoing the emptiness I felt inside. The memories were both a comfort and a torment. They reminded me of how deeply I had loved Sign and how profoundly I had been changed by her.

As I sat there, lost in the past, my phone buzzed. Nat was calling. I hesitated, staring at the screen. I didn't know what to say. How could I explain to her what had happened, or how I felt? I didn't want to hurt her, especially not when she'd been nothing but supportive. I let the call go to voicemail, feeling the weight of my indecision and guilt.