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Los Angeles, California
Marcus' Backyard📍

The air smells like weed, grilled salmon and lemon zest

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The air smells like weed, grilled salmon and lemon zest. String lights sway above the patio as the sun dips behind the hills. A bottle of wine sits between four mismatched glasses, mostly empty. It's warm, golden, a perfect night in L.A.—except for the tension wrapping the dinner table like cling film.

Jasmine sits beside Aubrey, her shoulders stiff, her silver bracelet catching the light every time she reaches for her glass of water. Across from them, Travis is staring her down and Marcus props an elbow on the table and eyes the group with casual curiosity and cautious energy.

"So," Marcus starts, breaking the silence, "we just gonna sit here pretending everything is cool?"

"I'm not pretending." Travis folds his arms

Jasmine presses her lips together. She knew this was coming. She just didn't know how fast.

Aubrey shifts in his seat, setting his wine glass down with care. "I don't blame you."

Travis tilts his head. "You shouldn't."

Aubrey meets his gaze. "I came tonight because I wanted to face it. All of it. You deserve that."

"Okay," Travis says, hands folded in front of him. "Let's face it then. Last time we saw each other, you grabbed her like she was nothing."

Marcus adds, "We didn't want to start shit at the time for her sake, but trust—it didn't sit right with either of us."

"I know," Aubrey says. "It shouldn't have. That moment... I crossed a line. I lost my temper. And I hate that you both had to see that. That she had to feel that."

Jasmine looks down at her plate. Picking at her food.

"I started therapy after that night," Aubrey says, voice softer. "Weekly one-on-ones. I had to look at who I'd become. And why."

"Words are nice," Travis says. "But what's changed? Really?"

"I don't react the same," Aubrey answers. "I don't gaslight. I don't isolate. I don't walk into rooms thinking I control the temperature. I've had to earn her trust back day by day. Moment by moment."

"You think a good couple of months makes up for—" Travis starts.

"It doesn't," Jasmine interrupts. Her voice is calm, but her fingers tremble slightly as she sets down her fork. "Nothing makes up for what happened. Not fully. But he's been showing up."

Travis shifts his eyes to her. "You okay now? Like actually okay, or just managing?"

Jasmine meets his gaze. "I'm okay. I'm great actually."

There's a silence. Then Marcus frowns slightly.

"Jas," he says slowly, "can I ask something?"

"Of course."

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