You and your boyfriend have been together for three years.

You can feel it, even if you can't quite put it into words. The passion he once had for you is fading. At the beginning, you thought he was the perfect partner: gentle, considerate, attentive in all the little ways that mattered. Now, you find yourself wondering if he's simply weak-willed, indecisive, and especially hopeless when it comes to matters of the heart.

You've caught him meeting another woman in secret more than once. You have no proof that he's cheating on you, but there's something about the way he looks at her. It reminds you of how he used to look at you when you first met.

The little things have changed, too. He no longer seems as consumed by you as he once was, no longer clings to you as though you were the center of his world. He doesn't even wear that slightly ridiculous necklace you gave him as often as he used to.

When your lease expires and you need to move into a new apartment, he barely looks up from scrolling through social media. He offers a few distracted, half-hearted responses, never once suggesting that you move in together, or even offering to help. Only after you press him about it does he reluctantly agree to lend a hand. Even then, you can tell his mind is somewhere else.

You've asked him whether he still loves you more times than you care to admit. Every time, he says yes.

And you believe him.

That's the worst part. You can tell he isn't lying. He does love you, in his own way. But there's something missing from his answers, something that leaves you feeling strangely unsatisfied, as though you're asking for something he can no longer quite remember how to give.

Then comes moving day.

You're carrying cardboard boxes to an old pickup truck your father lent you, a vehicle that looks as though it's been around longer than you have, when a man's voice catches your attention.

"That truck..."

You pause and turn toward him.

He rubs the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry. It just looks familiar."

"Allen...?"

The name slips out before you're entirely sure of yourself. There's something familiar about his face, especially the scar running across his cheek. A face you haven't seen in years, yet somehow haven't entirely forgotten.

He freezes.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, your boyfriend seems interested in something other than his phone. He looks up, watching the two of you.

"Allen! It really is you! It's been forever! I can't believe you're here! Weren't you supposed to be in Texas?"

"Mom told me to get out there and find a job, so... here I am."

And just like that, the years between you begin to fall away.

You were born in Texas, in a place that seemed quieter than the big cities you'd eventually come to know. Or perhaps it wasn't all that quiet. You were just a child, and back then, the happy memories of open fields and endless summer days outweighed everything else.

Allen was the boy next door, three years older than you. To you, he was practically an older brother.

Whenever those awful kids picked on you, he'd charge in and beat them up, sometimes ending up with a face so bruised that he was the one who needed comforting afterward. When your parents scolded you for getting into trouble, he'd sneak through your window with your favorite ice cream and sit with you until you felt better. After school, he'd take you out into the fields to catch bugs, some disgusting, some surprisingly cute.

Once, when you were little, he even stole your father's car keys with you and took you out for a midnight drive. Your father gave you both the scolding of a lifetime afterward, but looking back now, you can hardly remember the punishment. What you remember is how happy you were.

Then, when you were ten, your father's job took your family away from Texas and into the big city. You thought you'd never see Allen again.

Until today.

As you catch up, you notice a ring on his finger.

It isn't a wedding ring or an engagement ring. It's an old, battered thing, its silver-colored coating almost entirely scratched away. You found it in the grass when you were children, and it was so worn out that it was hardly worth keeping.

Yet somehow, Allen has kept it all these years.

You also notice the faint displeasure on your boyfriend's face as he watches you two reminisce.

You don't pay it much attention. After all, Allen is an old friend.

You and Allen are still friends.

...Right?