by Cole Beauchamp

Jenna knew when those three dots on her screen kept flashing in sequence, like the chase of disco lights at Georgina’s house party, like her brain screaming to reverse time, knew when Harry’s face kept popping up and disappearing that there was no going back, that all of his flirting in Form room and deep liking her Insta and that choking noise he made at the back of his throat when he came, that it wouldn’t be enough, that she’d broken the rules of situationship and never should have typed, “So, are we a thing now?”