Drew Starkey Imagines

The Best for You Was Always Me

Your POV

It's exhausting, pretending. Pretending I've moved on. Pretending my new boyfriend makes my heart race the way Drew used to. Pretending I don't think of him every time I lace up my shoes, pour my coffee, or hear that song playing faintly in the background at the grocery store.

My new boyfriend is good. Gentle. Consistent. Everything a girl should want. He holds my hand when we cross the street, texts me good morning, kisses me like I'm precious.

But he doesn't set my soul on fire.

And tonight, as I tug at the fabric of the dress I chose, I know why I bought it. It wasn't for him. It wasn't for the way his eyes might light up when he saw me.

It was for Drew.
Just in case.

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Drew's POV

When I walk into the party, I'm already tired of the act. The girl at my side laughs at every little thing, her arm threaded through mine like we're picture perfect. But it's hollow. Everything feels hollow without her.

And then I see her.

Wow. She looks so beautiful. I hate that it's not me with her. I'd do anything to hold her the way he does. To kiss her one more time. To tell her I still love her and I always will.

My stomach twists when I notice his hand at her waist, holding her like he's entitled to her. It makes my jaw clench. That used to be me. That should still be me.

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Your POV

I feel Drew's eyes before I see him. It prickles along my skin, familiar and electric, dragging me back to nights when his gaze felt like home.

I glance up—and there he is. Taller than I remember, sharper somehow, but with the same crooked smile tugging at lips I still dream about. His arm is draped over the waist of a girl in a scarlet dress. She's stunning. My chest tightens immediately, though I know she isn't the problem.

My boyfriend's hand tightens on mine, grounding me, but it feels wrong. All I can think about is Drew's touch. Drew's hand. Drew's everything.

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Drew's POV

I can't stop staring at her.

She's standing there, radiant, her laugh curling through the air like music. I remember every detail—the sound she makes when she's caught off guard, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles for real.

But he keeps touching her. Too close. Too often. And my blood boils. I would rather have had someone shoot me in the head with a nail gun, repeatedly, than have to watch him touch her like that all night.

It's torture. Pure, unbearable torture.

I wonder does he make her laugh like I did? Does she let him hold her the way she let me? Does he know she plays with her gold initial necklace (that she never takes off) when she's nervous? Does he know she hates sleeping without the blanket tucked under her chin?

Every single answer makes me sick. Because he shouldn't know. That's mine. That was mine.

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Your POV

Of course fate forces us to collide.

"Hey," I whisper, my voice weaker than I'd like.

"Hey," Drew says, soft and strained.

It's awkward. Too heavy with everything left unsaid. His girl hovers at his side, mine lingers at mine, but none of it matters.

"You look... good," Drew murmurs, his eyes flicking down my dress before he looks away too fast.

My chest aches. "So do you."

The words hang between us like a live wire. And then the crowd swallows us again. But not for long.

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Drew's POV

When she slips out to the balcony, I can't stop myself from following. I tell myself it's just coincidence, but I know better.

She's leaning against the railing, the city lights painting her in gold. For a second, I forget how to breathe.

"Does he make you happy?" I ask, the words tearing out before I can stop them.

She turns to me slowly, eyes wide. "He's... good to me."

"That's not what I asked."

Her silence slices through me. And then she throws the question back: "Does she make you happy?"

I swallow hard. "She's... nice."

But even I hear the crack in my voice. And I know she does too.

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Your POV

My chest is caving in. This is the truth we've both been running from.

"Do you ever think about us?" I ask, my voice trembling.

Drew lets out a bitter laugh. "Every damn day. And I hate myself for it."

Tears sting my eyes. "Me too."

The silence between us is deafening. The city hums below, the party thumps faintly behind, but here on this balcony, it's just us. And when he looks at me, I see it—the love he's been trying to bury, the love I've been trying to ignore.

"I want the best for you," he whispers, his voice raw. "Even if it's not me."

My throat burns. "I want the best for you too."

But deep down, we both know. The best for each other is each other.

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Drew's POV

I just can't take it anymore. My hands ache to touch her, to hold her. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But the way she's looking at me—it's the same as before. Longing. Desperate.

And suddenly, I can't hold back.

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Your POV

His lips crash onto mine, and everything else disappears. The music, the people inside, our so-called partners—it's all gone. There's only Drew. Only us. Only this kiss that feels like coming home after being lost for too long.

His hands cradle my face like I'm the most fragile, precious thing in the world, and I melt against him, my arms wrapping around his neck. I never want to let go.

When we finally break apart, breathless, his forehead rests against mine.

"I still love you," he whispers, raw and trembling. "I always will."

My heart shatters and mends all at once. "I love you too."

And in that moment, I know it doesn't matter how many miles or months separate us, or how many people we pretend to love along the way.

There's an invisible string tying me to Drew Starkey.
Always has been.
Always will be.