At the Party, Her Guy Friend Ridiculed Me… I Crushed Him in Seconds, and She Couldn’t Believe It!

I knew the night was going to be a problem the second my girlfriend said the words:

“Babe, don’t take anything Logan says personally, okay?”

That’s never how a good night starts.

It was Saturday, just after eight. Brooklyn air was warm in that early-summer way, and I was standing in front of the cracked mirror in my tiny bathroom, trying to decide if a black T-shirt could pass for “cool casual” or just “didn’t try.”

Behind me, on the toilet lid, sat my girlfriend, Ava, putting on eyeliner with the kind of precision NASA should’ve hired.

She watched my reflection as she spoke, like she was monitoring my reaction.

“What does that mean, ‘don’t take anything he says personally’?” I asked. “Is he drunk already, or just naturally insufferable?”

She sighed. “He’s just… you know how he is.”

“I’ve met him twice,” I said. “I know he acts like he invented sarcasm and grilled cheese.”

That made her laugh, which was always a tiny victory. Her laugh still got me like the first week we met—quick, bright, completely unfiltered. I turned around and leaned against the sink, watching her cap her eyeliner.

“Ava,” I said, softening my voice. “What are you actually trying to prepare me for?”

She hesitated, then stood and stepped close, looping her arms around my waist.

“My friends have… known me a long time,” she said. “And Logan’s been around since freshman year. He’s very protective. It just comes out… sideways.”

“Sideways like a knife to the ribs,” I muttered.

She wrinkled her nose. “You’re not helping.”

“Is he gonna be a jerk to me all night?”

“Probably not all night,” she said. “He just pokes a lot. With everyone. Especially guys I date.”

“That sounds like ‘yes, but I don’t want to say yes.’”

She groaned and put her forehead on my chest. “Can you please not go in looking for a fight? Just… give him a chance. If he crosses a line, I’ll say something. I promise.”

I wanted to believe that.

Ava was kind. Loud. Funny. The kind of person who turned strangers into friends in a single Lyft ride. But when it came to the people she’d grown up with—her college crowd, her long-term “almost-family” friends—she had blind spots.

Especially with Logan.

I’d seen them together twice. Once at a bar, where he’d “jokingly” suggested I must’ve “tricked” a girl like her somehow. Once at her place, where he’d “accidentally” interrupted a date night because “I was in the neighborhood, and you never text me back anymore.”

Both times, his smile never quite reached his eyes.

“He’s different when it’s just us,” she’d said, brushing it off. “He’s going through a rough patch.”

Everyone in Brooklyn between 24 and death was “going through a rough patch.” That didn’t mean they got to use other people as punching bags.

I wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin on top of her dark curls.

“I’m not looking for a fight,” I said. “I’m looking to drink his overpriced craft beer and make fun of his playlist in my head like a sane person.”

She laughed into my shirt. “There will be IPAs you can’t pronounce. Consider yourself warned.”

“Fantastic,” I said. “If there’s a DJ, do I have to pretend to be impressed?”

“He made the playlist himself,” she said. “So yes. Or at least neutral.”

“That’s worse. I have to pretend to respect a man who still unironically listens to Arcade Fire.”

“You’re being judgy,” she said, poking my ribs.

“I’m being prepared,“ I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

She pulled back, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You look good, by the way.”

I glanced down at my outfit—black T-shirt, dark jeans, clean sneakers. My only leather jacket.

“You’d say that if I wore a trash bag,” I said.

“You would make the trash bag work,” she said. “I’m biased, but I’m not blind.”

I kissed her forehead, then her mouth.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go meet your dragon.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“If he’s guarding you and your tower of childhood memories, he’s a dragon.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled. “Come on, Ethan. The Lyft’s downstairs.”

---

1. The Rooftop Kingdom of Logan King

Logan lived in one of those Williamsburg buildings that looked like a former warehouse married an Apple Store—industrial bones, floor-to-ceiling windows, plants everywhere, wine glasses shaped like they belonged in an influencer’s hand.

The elevator doors opened to the rooftop, and sound hit us first—music, laughter, the clink of bottles. String lights crisscrossed overhead, bathing the space in warm gold. The Manhattan skyline glowed in the distance, the East River a dark ribbon between us and all that expensive glass.

It was, annoyingly, a great party.

“Oh my God, you’re here!” A tall girl in a green jumpsuit screamed as soon as she spotted Ava. She darted over, sloshing her drink, and nearly tackled her in a hug. “You look so good. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Casey!” Ava squealed back. “You cut your hair!”

“I had a crisis,” Casey said. “It’s fine. Who’s this?”

She looked at me like I’d been delivered by Amazon same-day.

“This is Ethan,” Ava said. “My boyfriend.”

I still wasn’t used to that word coming out of her mouth about me. We’d been dating six months, official for two. It still hit me like a rush.

Casey’s eyes flicked over me—quick assessment, like she was checking boxes on an internal list. Clothes decent. Hands not visibly grimy. Face symmetrical enough.

“Nice to meet you,” she said brightly. “You drink?”

“Only when emotionally blackmailed,” I said. “So yes.”

She snorted. “You’ll fit right in.”

Ava leaned into my side, her arm around my waist.

We threaded our way through clusters of people—hipster guys in button-ups, girls in crop tops and high-waisted everything, a few older-looking people who gave off finance vibes. Everyone seemed to know Ava. She kept stopping to hug people, introduce me, tell quick catch-up stories.

“This is my friend from Columbia.”
“This is my old roommate.”
“This is the guy who used to do our entire econ problem set for weed.”

I smiled, shook hands, nodded. Answered the usual questions.

“So, what do you do, Ethan?”

Here we go.

“I’m a junior software developer,” I said. “Freelance right now. I also bartend three nights a week while I build out a project.”

Which was the truth, if not the whole polished LinkedIn truth.

I’d gone to community college, then done a coding bootcamp. I didn’t have a fancy degree. I didn’t have parents paying my rent. I had student loans, a roommate I barely saw, and a half-built app about to-do lists for people with ADHD that I hoped would keep me from dying behind a bar.

Most people at the party nodded, mildly interested. A few launched into their own startup pitches. One guy, in a vintage band tee and a mustache that looked like it needed its own Instagram, said, “Oh man, I did a bootcamp too. Congrats on surviving,” and we clinked bottles.

For thirty minutes, it was… fine.

Then I saw him.

He was leaning against the bar setup at the far end of the roof, like he owned the air up there. Tall, wiry, with dark blond hair pushed back in that perfectly messy way that took twenty minutes and product. He wore a white T-shirt, a denim jacket, and an expression crafted to say, I am deeply unimpressed by everything and everyone.

Logan.

I recognized him from Ava’s photos and the first time we’d met, briefly, when I came to pick her up and he’d sized me up like a bouncer deciding whether my shoes were appropriate.

He watched us approach, his eyes tracking Ava’s hand on my back.

“Ava Hayes,” he drawled as we got close. “Look who finally remembered her roots.”

She laughed, stepping in for a hug. “Shut up. I text you.”

“Not enough,” he said into her hair. “I could’ve been dead for three months and you wouldn’t know.”

She pulled back, swatting his chest. “Drama. You FaceTime me from Trader Joe’s to ask about cheese. How am I supposed to miss you?”

He grinned, then turned to me.

“And you brought…” His gaze flicked over me, slow. “An accessory.”

I smiled tightly. “Hey, Logan. Good to see you again.”

“Is it?” he asked. “Always nice when the temp agency sends someone handsome.”

Ava groaned softly. “Logan.”

“I’m kidding,” he said, hands up. “Relax. We do jokes here. Welcome to the roof, Ethan. Grab a drink before the IPA nerds finish lecturing us on hops.”

“I already feel judged for my future choices,” I said. “On-brand for Brooklyn.”

A couple people nearby chuckled.

Logan’s eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second, like he wasn’t used to being volleyed back to.

Then he smiled.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

“So,” he said, turning to pour a drink. “Still… doing the code monkey thing and pouring shots?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Still writing code. Still pouring shots. Still paying rent.”

“Ah, the hustle,” he said. “So romantic.”

I heard the dig under the surface—a Manhattanite speaking about borough life like a tourist attraction.

“What about you?” I asked, even though I already knew from Ava. “Still saving the world one pitch deck at a time?”

He smirked. “Product manager. Fintech. We just closed our Series B, actually.”

Several people nearby made impressed noises. Ava smiled. “Congrats, that’s huge.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Somebody’s gotta build the future.”

He handed Ava a drink, then me.

I took a sip.

It was, predictably, an IPA that tasted like it had been brewed in a forest.

“Strong,” I said. “Are we drinking this or are we doing community service for independent brewers?”

Logan laughed, but there was an edge to it. “You’ll get used to it, man. Beer is an acquired taste.”

“I’ve acquired many tastes,” I said. “I still reserve the right to call them pretentious.”

That got a real laugh from a girl standing nearby. Logan noticed, his jaw ticking just a little.

I filed that away.

“Come on,” Ava said, grabbing both of us by the wrist. “Enough measuring… whatever you idiots measure. Casey’s setting up some kind of game.”

“Game?” I asked. “Like charades? Never Have I Ever? Ritual sacrifice?”

“Almost as bad,” she said. “She found this card game on TikTok where everyone answers questions about each other. It’s supposed to ‘strengthen your relationships.’”

“Ah,” I said. “So it’s a structured way to ruin the night.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

Logan slung an arm over Ava’s shoulders as we walked. It was loose, casual, familiar.

I pretended it didn’t bother me.

It did.

---

2. The Ridicule (AKA: Death by Card Game)

We sat in a circle on low outdoor chairs and overturned crates. Casey shuffled a deck of cards printed with prompts like “What’s my most toxic trait?” and “What’s something you’ve never told me?”

“This seems healthy,” I murmured.

“It’s content,” Casey said. “If someone cries, I’m filming it for my story.”

A guy in a Hawaiian shirt—Mark, I think—raised his drink. “To emotional damage!”

Everyone cheered.

The game started tame. People pulled cards, pointed at each other, laughed, feigned offense. Someone admitted to stalking an ex’s Venmo. Another confessed they still listened to the Frozen soundtrack while high.

Then it was Ava’s turn to pull a card and choose someone.

She drew, read, winced.

“Oh no,” she said. “I hate this one.”

“What is it?” Casey demanded.

“‘What’s something about me you think I’m in denial about?’” Ava read.

“Oof,” Mark said. “RIP to whoever she picks.”

Ava scanned the circle, then shrugged helplessly and pointed at me.

“Sorry,” she said. “You’re new blood. This feels safest.”

“Wow,” I said. “I feel honored.”

Everyone looked at me.

Waiting.

I thought for a second, then decided to keep it light.

“You’re in denial about how much you hate saying no,” I said. “You act like you’re chill, but you’d rather juggle eight commitments and die than disappoint anyone.”

Ava blinked.

Then laughed.

“That is… uncomfortably accurate,” she admitted.

Several people nodded.

“You’re a pushover,” Casey said fondly.

“Don’t call it that,” Ava protested. “Call it… generous. I care about people.”

“You also care about not being the bad guy,” I said. “Even when the bad guy is clearly someone else.”

Her eyes flickered to Logan for half a second.

I noticed.

So did he.

“Huh,” he said. “Insightful. For someone who’s only been around five minutes.”

There it was.

The shift in his tone.

A few more rounds passed. Drinks flowed more freely. The questions got sharper.

Then Logan pulled a card.

He read it, smiled slowly.

“Oh, this is fun,” he said. “’What’s something about me you don’t think I can handle hearing?’”

“Pick me,” Casey said immediately. “I was born for this.”

He ignored her.

His eyes locked on me.

“I’m gonna go with Ethan,” he said.

My spine straightened.

“Me?” I asked. “I’ve never turned down a chance to insult somebody, but this feels targeted.”

“Exactly,” he said. “New boyfriend energy. Let’s see what you got.”

People murmured.

Ava shifted in her seat. “Logan, maybe pick someone you’ve—”

“Relax,” he said. “It’s a game. We’re adults. Ethan can handle it. Right, man?”

He was daring me.

Calling me out in front of the whole circle.

If I backed down, I’d look weak. If I went in too hard, I’d look like the psycho boyfriend.

I took a drink to buy time.

“What can’t you handle hearing?” I repeated, thinking. “Okay.”

I met his eyes.

“You don’t handle ‘no’ very well,” I said calmly. “You’re used to people orbiting you. You like being the sun. So when someone shifts their gravity—like Ava spending more time with me—you feel threatened. Instead of dealing with that feeling like a grown-up, you make cheap jokes to keep yourself on top.”

A silence fell over the circle.

Logan’s smile froze.

“Damn,” Mark muttered.

Casey’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, therapist.”

Ava stared at me, eyes wide.

I kept my gaze on Logan.

“You asked,” I said.

He held my stare for a long beat.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Then he laughed.

“Okay. Wow. We went for depth,” he said, shrugging. “Brave words for a guy who just joined the group chat.”

“Logan,” Ava said quietly. “You literally asked him.”

“I know,” he said, still smiling. “I’m not mad. It’s cute. He thinks he’s got me all figured out.”

He drew out the “cute” like I was a toddler pretending to read.

The game moved on, but the air had changed. People were a little quieter. Some kept glancing between us.

That should’ve been it.

A crack.

A moment.

Then everyone gets distracted by shots.

But Logan wasn’t done.

Later, after the game dissolved and people scattered—some to the bar, some to the corner to flirt, some to the couches to stare at their phones—I found myself standing by the railing, looking out at the skyline.

The city glittered. The air smelled like weed and expensive cologne.

Ava stepped up beside me, handed me a beer.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I survived,” I said.

“I’m sorry he put you on the spot,” she said. “He thinks he’s clever.”

“He’s not as subtle as he thinks,” I said.

She sighed. “He’ll chill out. He’s just… territorial. It’ll be fine.”

“Sure,” I said.

I didn’t believe that at all.

Behind us, I heard Logan’s laugh.

Loud.

Forced.

“Dude, I’m just saying,” he said to someone. “If my girlfriend brought home a guy with a resume like his, my mom would stage an intervention.”

“That’s harsh,” someone replied.

I turned slightly.

He knew I could hear him.

This wasn’t an accident.

“You don’t know his resume,” Ava called over, trying to make it light. “Logan, stop.”

“I know enough,” he said, stepping closer with his drink. “Bootcamp, bartender, ‘working on a project.’ That’s Williamsburg for ‘funemployed.’”

A couple of the guys chuckled, the way people laugh when they’re not sure if they’re supposed to.

I felt heat crawl up my neck.

“Not everyone has a trust fund to fail with,” I said, leaning on the rail.

Logan’s eyes flashed.

“Who said anything about failing?” he asked. “We’re backed by serious people.”

“And I’m sure they’re thrilled you’re spending their money on rooftop IPAs,” I said.

More laughs now.

A few sharper.

Logan took a step closer.

“We all start somewhere,” he said. “But Ava’s… she’s a catch. We’ve known her a long time. We just want to make sure she’s not dating… potential.”

“Potential?” I repeated.

“You know,” he said. “Guys with vibes. Good cheekbones. No plan.”

“A plan is just vibes in a spreadsheet,” I said.

Someone hollered, “Bars!” like I’d dropped a freestyle verse.

Logan ignored them.

“I’m sure you’re doing your best,” he said, smiling tightly. “It’s just—Ava could literally date anyone. She’s brilliant, gorgeous, killing it in her field. And you’re… making drinks and debugging.”

“Logan,” Ava snapped, stepping in between us. “Enough.”

“I’m just being honest,” he said, lifting his hands. “We’re old friends. We look out for each other. I’m sure Ethan’s a nice guy.”

Nice guy.

The way he said it made it sound like “participation trophy.”

I felt something sharp twist in my chest.

“I’m right here,” I said. “You don’t have to talk around me like I’m a rescue dog.”

He smirked. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” I said. “You just revealed a lot about yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, still smiling.

I turned fully toward him, my back to the city.

“In my experience,” I said, “people who keep saying, ‘Ava could date anyone’ are usually mad she’s not dating them.”

The circle around us went still.

Logan barked out a laugh. “That’s cute. You jealous?”

“No,” I said calmly. “I’m tired.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Of dudes who treat women like trophies they forgot to win,” I said. “You’re not protective, Logan. You’re possessive. There’s a difference.”

Ava’s breath hitched.

“Ethan…” she warned.

But I was done letting this guy chip away at me in front of her. In front of everyone.

I’d grown up with men like him. In high school, in jobs, everywhere—guys who needed to be the loudest, the funniest, the smartest, who turned every room into a stage and everyone else into supporting cast.

I’d spent years shrinking around them.

I wasn’t shrinking now.

Logan took another step closer, invading my space. He was taller than me by an inch, maybe two. Close enough that I could see the faint stubble on his jaw.

“Look,” he said, voice low. “You seem all right. But you’re new. You don’t get it. This isn’t some rando girl you met at a bar. This is Ava. She’s family. We’ve been through real shit together. So yeah, I’m gonna vet the guy who just showed up and thinks he knows her.”

“I don’t think I know her,” I said. “I know her. Because she lets me. She doesn’t have to pretend around me. She doesn’t have to stay the version of herself that fits your nostalgia.”

He scoffed. “My nostalgia?”

“You like her best when she’s your favorite college memory,” I said. “Carefree party girl. Life of the rooftop. But she’s grown since then. Got a promotion. Started therapy. Trying to set boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” he repeated, like the word tasted wrong.

“Like not wanting her best friend to constantly drag her boyfriend,” I said.

“Ouch,” Casey muttered under her breath.

Logan’s jaw clenched.

“This is how you handle conflict?” he asked. “Pop psych buzzwords? You learn that in your communications elective?”

“I learned it in therapy,” I said. “Unlike some people, I actually go.”

That one landed.

Hard.

His face changed.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said, the lightness gone.

“I know enough to see you’re not interested in what’s best for her,” I said. “You’re interested in what’s best for your ego.”

He laughed, but it was humorless. “My ego? Coming from a guy who can’t handle a couple jokes about his résumé?”

“I can handle jokes,” I said. “I can’t handle disrespect. Especially from a guy whose own résumé is ‘had a head start.’”

Someone whispered, “Oh, shit.”

I stepped closer now, closing the gap.

“You think you’re better than me?” Logan asked, his voice tight. “Because you struggle more?”

“I don’t think I’m better,” I said. “I think I’m honest. About where I’m at. About what I want. About how I feel about Ava. You? You hide behind banter and parties and ‘just messing around’ because if you said what you actually feel, she might say no. And you clearly don’t know how to handle that.”

The world narrowed to the two of us.

The party noise faded.

I could feel everyone watching.

Logan’s eyes flickered.

For the first time all night, he looked… rattled.

I’d hit the nerve.

Hard.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

And that second?

That single, stunned second?

That’s when I crushed him.

Not with a punch.

Not with a scream.

With the truth.

“Let me save you some time,” I said, my voice quiet but carrying. “If you have feelings for her, tell her. If you don’t, then stop acting like you’re auditioning to be her boyfriend while sabotaging everyone she actually dates. It’s gross. It’s selfish. And it’s not the flex you think it is.”

You could’ve heard an AirPod drop.

Logan stared at me.

A flush crept up his neck.

His grip tightened around his beer bottle.

For a second, I thought he might swing.

He didn’t.

He did something worse.

He smiled.

A slow. cold. smile.

“Wow,” he said. “That was… quite a speech. You should start a podcast. ‘Broke Philosophers of Brooklyn.’”

I didn’t look away.

“And there it is,” I said. “Can’t touch the point, so you attack the person. Classic.”

“Okay, enough,” Ava snapped, stepping between us again. “Logan, stop. You’re being an asshole.”

He blinked, like someone slapped him.

“Aves, I’m just—”

“No,” she said. “You’re not just anything. You’re being cruel. And you’re doing it on purpose. To someone I care about. So knock it off.”

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Something in his expression cracked.

Before he could respond, someone from across the roof called out:

“Hey! Guys! Shut up for a second! The neighbors are complaining about the noise. Again.”

The moment shattered.

The crowd dispersed.

Logan stepped back, his eyes burning holes in me.

“This conversation isn’t over,” he said under his breath.

“It is for me,” I replied.

I turned to Ava.

“I need air,” I said.

“We’re on a roof,” she said weakly.

“Different air,” I said.

And I walked away.

---

3. The Fight After the Fight

The hallway outside the elevators was quieter. Fluorescent. Unforgiving.

I leaned against the wall, running a hand through my hair, heart still racing.

The adrenaline had carried me through that entire confrontation. Now that it was draining, all the second-guessing flooded in.

Had I gone too far? Embarrassed her? Made things worse?

The elevator dinged.

Ava stepped out, closing the distance between us in three quick strides.

“Are you okay?” she demanded.

“I should be asking you that,” I said. “It’s your ex-future-husband I just verbally disemboweled.”

She let out a strangled laugh. “He’s not—God, you’re impossible.”

She stopped in front of me, arms crossed, eyes searching my face.

“That was… a lot,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was.”

She exhaled, leaning her shoulder against the wall beside me.

“Part of me wants to yell at you for doing that in front of everyone,” she said. “Part of me wants to high-five you.”

“I’ll accept a gentle scolding and a private high-five,” I said.

She smiled faintly, then sobered.

“He was being awful,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should’ve shut it down earlier.”

“You tried,” I said. “He bulldozed you.”

“I let him,” she said quietly. “I always let him. That’s… kind of the problem.”

I stayed quiet.

She stared at the elevator doors.

“When we were twenty,” she said, “he was the guy who picked me up from parties when I was too drunk to drive. The guy who let me crash on his couch after awful dates. The guy who told me I deserved better when I kept going back to guys who treated me like a convenience.”

Her voice tightened.

“He was my safe person,” she said. “For a long time.”

“And now?” I asked gently.

“Now he’s…” She struggled for words. “Confusing. Controlling. Mean, sometimes. He wraps it in jokes, but… it doesn’t feel safe anymore. It feels…”

“Conditional?” I offered.

She nodded miserably.

“I didn’t want to see it,” she said. “Because if I see it, it means I let it get this far.”

I reached for her hand.

“You were twenty,” I said. “You needed someone. You picked the best option you had. That doesn’t mean you’re stuck with it forever.”

She squeezed my fingers.

“I hate that you were the one who had to say it,” she said. “About him. About the jealousy. I should’ve noticed. I think… I did. On some level. I just… told myself I was imagining it.”

“We all lie to ourselves about the people we love,” I said. “Trust me. I have a whole TED Talk about that.”

She laughed weakly.

“I don’t want to be the girl who drops her friends for a guy,” she said. “I’ve judged people for that.”

“I’m not asking you to drop anyone,” I said. “I’m asking you to stop letting him treat you like you owe him something for being there in your twenties.”

We stood in silence for a moment.

Voices drifted faintly from the roof door.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted quietly.

“That’s between you and him,” I said. “What I do know is that I’m not going to keep auditioning for a role I already have.”

Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m your boyfriend,” I said. “Not his rival. I’m not doing this thing where every time we show up somewhere, I have to prove I’m ‘worthy’ enough for you while he chips away at me. I care about you. Enough to show up. Enough to tell you the truth, even when it sucks. Enough to walk away if I feel like I’m just cannon fodder in someone else’s insecurity war.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“I don’t want you to walk away,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to either,” I said. “But I also don’t want to spend the next year locked in a passive-aggressive Cold War with your best friend. That’s not a relationship. That’s a reality show.”

She laughed through a tear.

“I need you to set a boundary with him,” I said. “For you. Not just for me. If you can’t… then we’re not in the same place. And that’s okay. But I need to know that now, not six months from now when I’ve fallen even deeper in love with you.”

The words slipped out before I could catch them.

We both froze.

“You love me?” she asked, voice small.

I closed my eyes.

Well.

No taking it back now.

“Yeah,” I said. “Kind of epically, unfortunately.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She laughed, this shaky little sound, and wiped it away.

“I love you too, idiot,” she said.

My heart did something wild and painful in my chest.

She stepped closer, her forehead against mine.

“I don’t know exactly how to untangle this,” she said. “Him. Me. Us. But I know I want you. And I know what happened up there was… not okay. I need to think tonight. Talk to him. Really talk. Are you okay if we… go home separately?”

The question stung, but not because she was pushing me away.

Because she was finally pulling herself toward something.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I’ll call a car.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“I know,” I said. “Text me when you’re home?”

“I will,” she said.

She kissed me, soft and sure.

Then she went back up the stairs.

I watched the door close behind her and felt like I’d just stepped off a cliff.

---

4. The Dragon and the Girl

I didn’t see what happened next in real time.

All I got were fragments, texted out of order, pieced together like a puzzle over the next 24 hours.

What I know is this:

The party limped along for another hour. The mood had shifted. People danced, but the energy was weird in that way everyone pretends not to notice.

At some point, Casey pulled Ava aside onto the far end of the roof.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No,” Ava said.

“Do you want me to kick everyone out?” Casey said. “I will. I’ll invent a gas leak.”

Ava laughed tiredly. “No. It’s fine. I’m not in a party mood, but I’m not gonna ruin everyone’s night.”

“You’re allowed to ruin a man’s night,” Casey said. “That man in particular.”

Ava looked over at Logan, who was refilling someone’s drink, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for her.

“I need to talk to him,” she said. “Not tonight. But soon.”

“Please define ‘soon’ as ‘yesterday,’” Casey said.

When the crowd finally thinned out and the last strangers left, it was just the Inner Circle:

Ava. Logan. Casey. Mark. A couple others.

Someone put on sadder music. Someone else started collecting empty bottles.

“Hey,” Logan said, approaching Ava near the bar. “Can we talk?”

She smiled tightly. “Yeah. We should.”

He tilted his head toward the door. “Inside?”

She shook her head. “Here’s fine.”

He glanced around. “I’d rather—”

“I wouldn’t,” she said.

Casey caught the tone and immediately distracted the others, shepherding them to the other side of the roof under the pretense of helping with trash.

Ava crossed her arms.

Logan shoved his hands in his pockets.

“What the hell was that?” Ava asked quietly. “With Ethan.”

He scoffed. “What was what? Your little boyfriend came at me like a TEDx speaker.”

“He answered your question,” she said. “He told the truth. And then you kept jabbing and jabbing until he had to defend himself. In front of everyone. Why?”

“I told you,” he said. “I’m looking out for you.”

“No,” she said. “You’re not. You’re looking out for your version of me. The one who revolves around you.”

He stared at her, thrown.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked.

“From the fact that you were cruel,” she said. “On purpose. You belittled his job, his goals, his background. You made him feel small to make yourself big. That’s not protection. That’s bullying.”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “Bullying? What are we, twelve? It was banter, Aves. You used to love our banter.”

“I used to love a lot of things,” she said. “Getting blackout drunk. Dating men who treated me like an option. Crying on your couch at three in the morning while you told me jokes instead of the truth.”

His face hardened. “The truth?”

“That you were in love with me,” she said.

Silence.

Longest three seconds of his life.

“Wow,” he said finally. “He really did a number on you, huh? Now you’re seeing romantic conspiracies everywhere.”

“Don’t gaslight me, Logan,” she said. “I’m not dumb. Have you ever once been genuinely happy for me when I dated someone?”

“I hated Tyler,” he said. “He was a douche.”

“You hated Ben,” she said. “And Marco. And Nick. And the guy from my office whose name you always ‘forgot.’ You always had a reason. ‘He’s flaky.’ ‘He’s boring.’ ‘He’s not on your level.’ And you know what? Sometimes you were right. But not always.”

“I have high standards for you,” he said. “Is that a crime now?”

“You don’t have standards for me,” she said. “You have standards for you. How much attention you get. How central you are. How much access you have to my life. Ethan threatens that. So you’re tearing him down. You can tell yourself it’s for my own good, but we both know better.”

He shook his head, smiling humorlessly.

“Since when do you talk like this?” he asked. “Did your therapist give you a script?”

“Since I realized I’ve been letting you dictate my love life for six years,” she said. “And that you like me best when I’m sad and single and leaning on you.”

“That’s not fair,” he said sharply. “You came to me. I held your hair when you puked. I let you stay at my place when your landlord was harassing you. I was there. Always. I never asked for anything.”

“That’s the problem,” she said softly. “You did ask. Just not out loud.”

His throat worked.

He looked away.

“I don’t want to do this,” he muttered.

“I do,” she said. “Because I love you. You’re my friend. My family. But you’re not my boyfriend. You never have been. And you can’t be both my ‘safe person’ and the person making my partner feel unsafe.”

“You love him,” he said dully.

“Yes,” she said.

He flinched.

“I love you too,” he said. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

“It was,” she said. “That’s why this is so hard.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t like him for you,” he said. “I’m not saying that because he’s competition. I’m saying that because it’s true. He’s… you know. Scrambling. You’ve worked so hard. You deserve someone who’s… at your level.”

“At my level?” she repeated. “What level is that?”

“You know what I mean,” he said.

“Say it,” she insisted.

He swallowed.

“Successful,” he said. “Put-together. Someone who already has their shit handled, not someone who’s still figuring it out.”

“And what about the fact that he listens to me?” she asked. “That he makes me feel seen. That he doesn’t make me feel like I’m dramatic for having needs.”

“I listen to you,” he protested.

“Do you?” she asked. “Because when I told you I was thinking about going to therapy, you said, ‘Isn’t that just paying someone to tell you what your friends already have?’”

He winced. “I was joking.”

“It didn’t feel like a joke,” she said. “It felt like you didn’t want me to have a perspective you couldn’t control.”

He stared at her, wounded. “You think I’m some kind of… villain, don’t you?”

“No,” she said softly. “I think you’re someone who’s hurting. And scared. And used to being the center of my universe. And I think you’d rather pretend nothing’s wrong than admit you might lose that.”

Tears glistened in his eyes.

He blinked them away angrily.

“So what then?” he asked. “I lose you to some bartender with a bootcamp certificate?”

“You don’t lose me,” she said. “You lose the version of me that belonged to you.”

He laughed bitterly. “Poetic.”

“I’m not asking you to be his biggest fan,” she said. “I’m asking you to be respectful. To me. To my choices. If you can’t do that, then… maybe we need space.”

He stared at her like he didn’t recognize her.

“Space,” he repeated.

“If you keep undermining my relationship, you’re not my friend,” she said. “You’re my saboteur.”

The word hung there.

Heavy.

Ugly.

Dead accurate.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice cracking. “I’ve only ever known how to… be your person. The one you come to. The one who knows everything. I don’t know how to watch you build a life with someone else and just… clap from the sidelines.”

“I know,” she said.

“Does he know everything?” he asked. “About you. About your panic attacks. About the way you spiral when your mom calls. About how you used to drink to blackout on Thursdays because you hated being alone with your thoughts?”

“Yes,” she said. “He does.”

He swallowed.

“And he’s still here?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

Logan’s shoulders sagged.

He looked suddenly small.

“I always thought if I waited long enough,” he said, “if I just… stayed, you’d eventually see. That it was supposed to be me.”

“I know,” she said gently. “I think that’s part of why I kept you so close. It felt… safe. To know someone wanted me like that. Even if I didn’t want them back the same way.”

Her honesty cut both ways.

“I’m sorry,” she added. “For my part in that. I let you think something might happen someday. I didn’t correct it because it served me. That wasn’t fair.”

He let out a breath that sounded like a broken laugh.

“So we’re both terrible,” he said.

“Not terrible,” she said. “Just… messy. Human.”

He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Now,” she said, “you decide if you can be in my life as my friend. Just my friend. Who respects my relationship. Who doesn’t trash the person I love to feel powerful. If you can’t… then yeah, we need some distance.”

He stared at the ground.

Silence stretched.

Finally, he said, “I need time.”

“That’s fair,” she said.

He took a shuddering breath.

“I’m… sorry for what I said,” he muttered. “About his job. That was… shitty.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was.”

“But I still don’t like him,” he added.

“You don’t have to like him,” she said. “You just can’t try to destroy him.”

He nodded.

“I’ll… think about it,” he said.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going home.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

“Give me a few days,” she said.

He flinched.

“Right,” he said. “Sure. Whatever you need.”

She walked away.

He watched her go.

For the first time since freshman year, he let her leave without following.

---

5. The Fallout (From My Side)

The Lyft ride back to my place was a blur of neon and regret.

I kept replaying the fight in my head, editing alternate versions.

In one, I laughed off his comments, made friends with him, earned his respect like a trained seal.

In another, I shoved him. Hit him. Started a real fight.

In none of them did I feel good.

You can stump a man with words in front of his friends, but that doesn’t feel like victory.

It feels like exposure.

I sat on my bed, still in my party clothes, staring at my phone like it held a verdict.

At 1:12 a.m., it buzzed.

Ava:
Home.
I love you.
Can we talk tomorrow?

I stared at the screen, throat tight.

Me:
Yeah.
Love you too.
Sleep.

I didn’t sleep for a while.

My brain spun through every insecurity Logan had poked.

He wasn’t wrong about everything.

I was figuring things out. I didn’t have a 401(k) or a Series B or a rental in the Hamptons waiting for me.

What I had was a 2013 MacBook, some decent JavaScript, and a body that could carry three drinks at a time without spilling.

I thought about the guys Ava used to date—at least the ones I’d heard about. Lawyers. Consultants. A guy who worked for some kind of philanthropic foundation and wore linen shirts unironically.

They had careers.

I had jobs.

The next morning, I woke up to a text from my roommate letting me know he’d be gone all day. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge and my own anxious breathing.

At 10:45 a.m., Ava called.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hey,” I said.

“How are you?” she asked.

“Sorting my enemies list,” I said. “You and Casey are safe. Logan… TBD.”

She huffed a tiny laugh.

“I talked to him,” she said.

I sat up. “Yeah?”

She told me everything.

How he’d finally admitted he was in love with her. How she’d finally admitted she knew. How they’d both owned their parts in the mess.

“I feel like I broke up with someone I was never actually dating,” she said. “Is that a thing?”

“It is now,” I said.

“I don’t know where we land yet,” she went on. “He said he needs time. I do too. But I told him the boundary. No more treating you like a threat. No more disrespect. If he can’t handle that, we need distance.”

“How did he take that?” I asked.

“About as well as you’d expect,” she said. “But he heard me. For the first time, I think he really heard me.”

I exhaled slowly.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to push it to the surface,” she replied. “That wasn’t fair either.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “But if this is the result… I don’t regret it.”

“Me neither,” she said.

There was a pause.

“You meant it?” she asked quietly. “Last night. About… loving me?”

“Terrible timing to lie, so… yeah,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, voice soft. “Good. Just wanted to double-check.”

“You?” I asked.

“I meant it,” she said. “Still mean it. Even more now, honestly.”

I swallowed.

“Good to know,” I said.

She laughed.

“Do you still… want to be with me?” she asked. “Knowing all this? Knowing my best friend’s in love with me and I have a history of ignoring red flags the size of New Jersey?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. Knowing that you’re willing to look at those flags now. Knowing you can draw a line with someone that close to you? That’s… big.”

“Therapy’s paying off,” she said.

“Tell your therapist I said thanks,” I said.

“You can tell her yourself sometime,” she said. “She’d probably love to hear your side.”

“Only if she has snacks,” I said.

She giggled.

“I want us to be a team,” I said. “Even when it’s messy. Even when your history walks into the room and makes everything awkward. Especially then.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”

“So,” I said. “What happens if he can’t do it? Can’t be just your friend?”

She was quiet for a moment.

“Then I’ll grieve,” she said. “And let him go.”

It couldn’t have been easy for her to say that.

But she did.

And I believed her.

Something loosened in my chest.

“Want to come over?” I asked. “I can make pancakes. Or try to, and then we can order pancakes.”

She smiled in my ear. I could hear it.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” she said.

---

6. The Aftermath (And the Second Crushing)

Logan didn’t disappear completely.

For weeks, he and Ava texted sporadically. Surface-level stuff. Memes. Articles. The occasional check-in.

He didn’t ask to hang out with both of us.

I didn’t push it.

I worked. I coded. I went on walks with Ava in Prospect Park. We got late-night tacos, watched terrible reality shows, talked about everything from childhood to politics to our weirdest fears.

We fought, sometimes.

About dishes.

About how often I cancelled plans last-minute because I took extra shifts.

About how she sometimes agreed to things she didn’t want to do, then resented me for not magically knowing.

We talked through it.

Slowly.

Badly.

Better over time.

“Healthy conflict,” my therapist called it. “Not fun, but necessary.”

“Feels like doing dishes for your soul,” I said.

She wrote that down.

Two months after the rooftop party, on a muggy Tuesday, I walked into a coffee shop near my bar shift to kill an hour.

And there he was.

Logan.

Sitting alone at a two-top, laptop open, headphones around his neck.

I almost turned around.

Then he looked up.

Our eyes met.

He froze.

Then, slowly, he closed his laptop.

I took a breath and walked over.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said, voice cautious.

We stared at each other for a second.

“Is this your neighborhood?” I asked.

“Client meeting,” he said. “They ran late. I’m killing time.”

“Got it,” I said.

Silence again.

He cleared his throat.

“How’s Ava?” he asked.

“She’s good,” I said. “Busy. We went to her parents’ place last weekend. Her mom tried to set her up with their dentist.”

He snorted. “Of course she did.”

“I think she liked me by the end,” I said. “Mostly because I fixed their Wi-Fi.”

“Tech support,” he said. “Classic.”

Another beat.

“Look,” he said, glancing around like he wanted to make sure no one was listening, “I, uh… I owe you an apology.”

I blinked.

“Okay,” I said slowly.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve already told Ava this,” he said. “But I should tell you too. I was… an asshole. To you. On purpose. I treated you like crap because I… couldn’t handle my own shit. That’s not an excuse. Just the reality. I’ve… been talking to someone about it.”

“Like… a therapist someone?” I asked.

He nodded, almost embarrassed. “Yeah. Apparently, I have ‘issues with control and abandonment.’”

“Shocking,” I said.

He huffed a tiny laugh.

“She said I use jokes as armor,” he went on. “Who knew?”

“Everyone,” I said.

He grimaced. “Fair.”

He met my eyes.

“I’m not promising I’ll ever like you,” he said. “Because I’m petty. And you stole my favorite person.”

“I didn’t steal her,” I said. “She chose me. There’s a difference.”

He nodded slowly.

“I know that,” he admitted. “Still stings.”

“I get it,” I said.

“But I am promising,” he said, “that if we’re ever in the same room again, I won’t… do what I did. I won’t try to make you feel small. You don’t deserve that.”

I studied him.

He looked… tired.

Humbled.

Human.

“I appreciate that,” I said.

He shifted in his seat.

“She loves you, you know,” he said. “A lot.”

“I know,” I said. “I love her too.”

“If you hurt her,” he added, “I will absolutely ruin you.”

I smiled.

“There he is,” I said. “I was wondering where the dragon went.”

He smirked. “Less fire these days. More smoke.”

“I won’t hurt her,” I said. “Not on purpose. If I mess up, I’ll own it. That’s all I can promise.”

He nodded.

We stood in silence for a moment.

I could feel the weight of all the unspoken things between us.

Then he stuck out his hand.

I looked at it.

Took it.

His grip was strong, but not crushing.

“Truce?” he asked.

“For her?” I said. “Yeah.”

“And for you?” he asked.

I considered.

“I don’t hate you,” I said. “I don’t really like you yet. But I think you’re trying. So… we’ll see.”

“Fair enough,” he said.

I turned to go, then paused.

“Hey, Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Next party you host,” I said, “maybe pick a lighter card game.”

He laughed.

“Ava told me you called that night ‘Death by Card Game,’” he said. “She’s not wrong.”

“Tell her I’ll only come if there’s less emotional damage and more guac,” I said.

“I’ll pass it on,” he said.

I walked out of the coffee shop feeling lighter.

Not because we were friends.

We weren’t.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But because I’d seen him without the armor.

Just a guy.

Flawed.

Scared.

Trying.

And I knew something important:

The night on the roof, when I’d “crushed him in seconds,” I hadn’t just broken him.

I’d broken a pattern.

His.

Ava’s.

Mine.

I’d stood up—not just to him, but to every version of him I’d shrunk around in the past.

And somehow, that had made room for something better.

Respect.

Honesty.

Boundaries.

Love.

---

7. The Party After the Party

The second time I went to one of Logan’s parties, it was different.

For one thing, there were fewer people.

Smaller group. Closer friends.

For another, there were no card games.

“I banned anything with prompts,” Casey told me when we arrived. “We only do Jenga now. If something collapses, at least it’s not your self-esteem.”

Logan spotted us, raised his beer in greeting.

“Ethan,” he said. “You came. Brave.”

“I heard there’d be less character assassination,” I said. “Figured I’d risk it.”

“Baby steps,” he said. “Want a drink?”

“Got anything that doesn’t taste like a pine tree?” I asked.

He smirked. “Fridge door. Left side. Don’t tell the IPA cult.”

As the night went on, I realized something else:

He was quieter.

Still sarcastic. Still quick. But he didn’t dominate. Didn’t perform. Didn’t poke at me.

When someone made a joke about “bootcamp coders,” he glanced at me, then said, “Hey, at least those guys can ship something. Half the CS bros I know are still refactoring their portfolios.”

It was small.

But it was something.

At one point, I caught him watching Ava as she laughed at something on her phone.

There was pain in it.

And also… acceptance.

Later, as the skyline glowed and the music thumped gently in the background, Ava and I stood by the railing again, her arms looped around my waist from behind, her chin on my shoulder.

“Deja vu?” I asked.

“A little,” she said. “Feels… better this time.”

“Less hostility,” I said. “Better beer choices.”

“You know he bought those just for you,” she murmured.

I blinked. “Seriously?”

“He texted me yesterday,” she said. “Asked what you drink. Said, and I quote, ‘If he’s gonna suffer my presence, least I can do is not assault his taste buds.’”

I smiled.

“That’s almost sweet,” I said.

“Don’t tell him,” she said. “His head’s big enough.”

I turned in her arms, facing her.

“You doing okay?” I asked.

She nodded.

“It still hurts,” she admitted. “Losing the version of him I thought I had. Realizing what I missed. What I ignored. But I feel… lighter. Like I’m not dragging around this weird guilt backpack anymore.”

“Therapy metaphor?” I asked.

“She’s rubbing off on me,” she said.

“I like this for you,” I said. “For us.”

“Me too,” she said.

I looked at her—the way the string lights reflected in her eyes, the way her hair curled at the ends in the humidity, the way her lips curved when she looked at me like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

I thought about all the nights I’d gone home from work convinced I wasn’t enough.

Not accomplished enough.

Not impressive enough.

Not “on her level.”

And then I thought about the fight on the roof.

About how I’d stood there, shaking but steady, and said exactly what I meant.

Crushed a man not to win her, but to defend myself.

I didn’t feel like an imposter anymore.

I felt like her partner.

“Okay,” I said. “Serious question.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shoot.”

“If this were another card game night,” I said, “and you pulled a prompt about something you were in denial about a year ago… what would your answer be?”

She smiled.

“That I thought being loved meant being chosen,” she said. “By my friends. By my parents. By men I dated. That if I just performed well enough, they’d keep me. I didn’t realize I was allowed to choose too.”

“And now?” I asked.

“Now I know better,” she said. “I choose you. Even when it’s hard. Even when my past is messy. Even when my best friend has feelings and my mom sends me links to dentist’s LinkedIn profiles.”

I laughed.

“Strong competition, that dentist,” I said. “I heard he has benefits.”

“He doesn’t make me laugh like this,” she said.

Then she kissed me.

Not the distracted, “I’m drunk and you’re convenient” kind of kiss.

The kind that said, I’m here. Fully. On purpose.

When we pulled back, I glanced over her shoulder.

Logan was across the roof, tossing a Jenga block in the air, pretending not to watch.

Our eyes met.

He lifted his beer in a small salute.

I returned it.

In another universe, maybe he’d have gotten the girl. Maybe I’d be at some other bar, some other rooftop, playing some other game.

But in this one?

He’d had to face himself.

Ava had had to face him.

And I’d had to face the part of me that always backed down.

At the party, her guy friend ridiculed me.

I crushed him in seconds.

She couldn’t believe it then.

Now?

Now she believed in me.

And that?

That felt better than any victory.

That felt like finally, finally, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

---

THE END