My Best Friend Kissed Me, But Wanted Her.

The bar was quieter than usual for a Thursday night, dressed in soft amber light and the low hum of a half-forgotten Christmas playlist drifting from unseen speakers. Talia liked it this way—less noise, fewer eyes, fewer questions. The kind of night that invited confession. Archie sat two stools down from her, shoulders hunched, fingers curled loosely around a glass he hadn’t bothered to finish. Whiskey, she thought. Or maybe bourbon. Something strong enough to dull the ache he wore like a second skin. She’d been keeping him company for over an hour now. Not that he’d asked. He never did. Talia just… stayed. She always did. “She didn’t even try to understand,” Archie said, his voice thick but controlled, like he was gripping his emotions just as tightly as the glass. “I asked for one thing. One. Christmas. With me.” Talia tilted her head toward him, resting her elbow against the bar. “And she said no.” “She said she couldn’t,” he corrected bitterly. “Some charity gala. Black tie. Sponsors. Cameras.” He scoffed. “God forbid Diana Everleigh miss an opportunity to be admired.” Talia kept her face neutral, even as something sharp twisted in her chest. She’d learned that lesson years ago—never criticize Diana outright. Archie heard what he wanted to hear when it came to her. She felt like she knew Diana better than most people, the real Diana. She was her adopted sister after all. Talia had been placed with Diana’s family years ago when she was only sixteen. The Everleigh Family came from money and politics, taking in a foster child was just the push Mr. Everleigh needed to secure that major position. “She said it was important,” he continued, staring into his drink. “That this was part of her career. That I should understand.” “And you didn’t,” Talia said gently, tiptoeing around her words as to not cross the line Diana so carefully drew for her. “I did,” Archie snapped, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “At least, I tried to. I just… I wanted her there. With my family. With me. It’s our fourth Christmas, Tal.” She swallowed. Four years. She’d counted them too. “I told her I needed her,” he went on, voice dropping. “And she told me I was being selfish.” Talia didn’t answer right away. She took a slow sip of her wine, buying herself a second to push down the familiar ache. She’d watched this cycle play out more times than she cared to admit—Archie bending, Diana shining, and something always breaking in between. “And then?” she prompted softly. “And then she left,” he said flatly. “Packed a bag. Said she needed space. Said we were ‘holding each other back.’” He laughed once, humorless. “Funny thing to say when I’m the one always waiting.” Talia reached out, resting her hand on his forearm. The contact was instinctive, comforting. Dangerous. “I’m sorry, Archie.” He looked at her then, really looked at her, eyes glassy but earnest. “You always are.” She forced a small smile. “That’s what best friends are for.” The word settled between them like a fragile ornament—beautiful, precarious, and capable of shattering if handled wrong. Talia had met Archie first. They met at freshman orientation. Long before Diana swept in with her curated smiles and perfect posture. Back when he was just a boy with restless hands and too many dreams, back when they shared secrets in the dark and talked about futures that felt endless. She’d loved him then. She loved him now. And she hated herself a little for it. “She’ll come back,” Archie said suddenly, as if saying it aloud would make it true. “She always does.” Talia nodded, even though every part of her wanted to scream. She’d hoped—every time—that the last breakup would finally stick. That he’d see the pattern. That he’d stop mistaking intensity for devotion. Diana was beautiful, yes. Elegant. Effortlessly admired. She wore perfection like armor, never letting the cracks show. Archie saw a goddess. Talia saw the rehearsed kindness, the subtle condescension, the way Diana’s smile never quite reached her eyes unless someone important was watching. “She just needs time,” Archie added. “Once things cool off.” “Maybe,” Talia said, because it was easier than saying maybe he deserves better. They sat in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but heavy, weighted with things unsaid. The bartender refilled Archie’s glass without being asked. “How about you?” Archie asked suddenly, turning toward her. “You’ve been awfully quiet. How’s… what’s-his-name?” Talia’s heart stuttered. She blinked, momentarily blank. Boyfriend. Right. The boyfriend. There was a pause—just a second too long. “Oh,” she said finally, forcing the word past her lips. “Um. Evan.” The name felt foreign, like a borrowed coat that didn’t quite fit. Or a knitted Christmas sweater that itched. “How’s that going?” Archie asked, genuine curiosity softening his expression. Talia hesitated, her mind scrambling to assemble a version of a relationship she barely inhabited. Diana would kill her if she told him the truth. Evan was… fine. Polite. Handsome in an inoffensive way. Carefully selected by Diana, of all people, during one of her more meddlesome phases. You need someone stable, Diana had said, smiling sweetly. Someone who won’t complicate things. As if Talia’s heart hadn’t already been complicated beyond repair. “It’s… good,” she said after a beat. “He’s busy. Work stuff.” Archie chuckled. “Sounds thrilling.” She smiled weakly. “Yeah. Riveting.” He studied her for a moment, brow furrowing. “You okay?” The question nearly undid her. Well the question and the way his eyes seemed to see inside her soul. “Of course,” she lied easily. She’d had years of practice. “Don’t worry about me. I’m here to keep you company, remember.” He nodded, accepting it, and turned back to his drink. The moment passed, but the weight lingered. Outside, snow began to fall, soft and quiet, dusting the windows with a promise of Christmas. Talia watched it absently, wondering how many winters she’d spent loving Archie in silence. Wondering how many more she could survive. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the last breakup she’d have to endure. “Thanks for being here,” he said suddenly, voice softer now, worn down to something raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her chest ached. “You won’t ever have to find out,” she said. And she meant it—no matter how much it hurt. Because loving Archie had never been about being chosen. It had always been about staying.