𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟒𝟔. 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞?

Suki hadn't slept. The hours crept by in darkness, haunted by the flicker of Drew's words replaying in her head. It was ridiculous, maddening even, how one interview could unravel her so completely, threatening to dismantle the routine she'd worked so hard to build. She had her new life, her guarded routines, her career dialed in precisely where she wanted it. But when it came to him, even the smallest hint of emotion felt like her foundation might crack.

Finally, unable to stay still, she padded to her home studio, switching on the soft lights that bathed the room in a warm glow. She sank into her chair, headphones in place, and played the track Abel had sent over. Off The Table poured into her ears, a haunting melody that spoke to every lingering, unhealed part of her. With each lyric, her own thoughts unfurled like a confession she hadn't allowed herself to voice aloud.

Will I ever love the same way again? The question pierced her as she hummed along, pen in hand, jotting thoughts in the margins of her notebook. She tried to capture the feeling of that uncertainty—the way her heart ached, but in a quiet, enduring way, like it wasn't going anywhere. Drew was a chapter she hadn't finished, a choice she hadn't entirely closed off. Maybe she'd changed, healed, but did that matter when no one else could make her feel what he did?

Never thought you'd be so damn hard to replace, she wrote slowly, her hand moving in time to the song's beat. She remembered their moments together, the quiet mornings when he'd make coffee for both of them, the rare, stolen nights when they'd stayed up late sharing their dreams. She hadn't let herself linger on those memories in a long time; yet here she was, aching over how she'd pushed him away, the vulnerability she had refused him. Would it have mattered if she'd asked him to stay instead of telling him to leave?

She hated that she'd hurt him, that she had built walls so high even he, with all his patience and quiet understanding, couldn't scale them. He'd tried, over and over, while she'd kept him at arm's length, fearing what it would mean to truly let him in. And now, no one else could reach her the way he had—her heart had become almost a fortress. Had she been too cold? Am I too cold? Am I not nice? Her voice softened as she sang along, words drifting like a sigh.

Her notebook was filling with half-formed questions, doubts, and emotions she hadn't let herself touch in months. If I can't have you, is love completely off the table? Could she even imagine something real with someone else? She didn't know if she'd ever love someone else the way she had loved him, with all the raw, conflicting feelings that seemed to live only in the corners of her soul that he had touched.

The song's bridge wrapped around her, softening the pain but not erasing it, each line pulling her closer to a truth she hadn't wanted to confront. Not yet healed or ready, she thought, her voice low as she sang the words, considering if they were still true, for both of them. She had grown, yes, but she still carried this undying love for him. It was there, almost painfully, in every note she sang, every lyric she scrawled in her notebook.

Suki wondered, heart aching, if he'd still be there, waiting, if there might still be a chance to rewrite their story. Or maybe that was all just wishful thinking. She'd changed, but she didn't know if it was enough. Maybe Drew was her unfinished business, or maybe he'd moved on entirely. But for tonight, in the sanctuary of her studio, she let herself imagine that he might still be out there, and that perhaps, just maybe, love wasn't completely off the table.

Backstage at SNL was a controlled chaos that Suki found electric. Cast members zipped around between costume changes, writers huddled to make last-minute tweaks to jokes, and production assistants shouted out countdowns, keeping everyone on a razor-thin schedule. Despite the whirlwind around her, Suki was undeniably the center of attention. Every few minutes, someone stopped to smile, say hello, or sneak a starstruck glance her way. Even in a setting full of A-listers, her presence was magnetic.