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My head feels light. My heart throbs something manic, growing three sizes. It’s a shitty, terrible, sickening thing. For a split second, the last two-and-a-half years vanish. I forget. I forget the heartbreak, the tears, the world crashing down. I remember us like this, always like this, easy, tender. I remember the feeling of it being safe there, of wanting to stay here. It isnotsafe here. This is an illusion, playacting. I cannot stay here. I scramble off him quickly, reaching for my knickers, slipping my dress on.

Malakai’s face falls with realisation, his hand flying to the back of his head. ‘Shit, sorry, I forgot—’

‘No, it’s fine. It’s fine.’ Like repetition might will it so, an incantation to manifest this into something that isn’t a huge fucking mistake.

Malakai watches me, momentarily dazed, before he rights himself, tearing his gaze from me like his quota for pretending to care has been hit, and then going over to the bathroom to throw the condom away. We sit back next to each other, our skin shiny from the exertion from getting closure. I read somewhere (well, a TikTok therapist said) that closure is a lie we tell ourselves to hold on to something. I don’t know why I remember this at this particular moment. Malakai and I areclosed.Sealed. I feel the synergy we achieved when we were skin to skin calcify. We turn to each other, say, ‘So,’ at the same time. He chuckles, I laugh. Nothing is funny. It’s strange, awkward, because we have never been awkward after sex with each other. We’ve never had to be.

‘We got it out of our systems,’ he says finally, and something in me cools.

I nod. ‘Right. We addressed it. Got rid of it.’

Malakai’s face dims a little. Maybe the appeal has worn off quickly. ‘In many ways this was the mature thing to do.’

‘Look at us. Slaying the ex thing.’

‘We should do a TED Talk on it.’

‘How to Eliminate Ex Stress: Sex.’ It’s not my best.

Malakai shoots me a short, courteous smile before he clears his throat. ‘Uh. Do you want a glass of water?’ like he’s asking a colleague if they want a cup of tea while they pop into the office rec area. I guess that’s virtually what this is. Two people, who worked alongside each other to reach the same goal of achieving orgasms.

‘Yeah. Thanks. And, um, could you please get my phone while you’re there? I should probably call an Uber—’

It isn’t my preference to get into a taxi with the scent of sex clinging on to me, but getting into a shower here just seems too intimate, too risky. Malakai’s face shadows briefly– probably realising we have made a colossal error– before nodding. ‘Yeah. Course. No problem.’

He goes to the kitchenette whilst my mind races. I am not entirely sure this was the best decision. Actually, I am definitely sure it was the worst decision I could have possibly made at this time. This was supposed to kill all Malakai Korede-related thirst, but I’m feeling like something has been stoked. Sex with Malakai was always good, blessedly so, considering he was my first time. I always wondered if maybe that’s part of why it was so good– not just our connection, but the fact that my desire evolved with him. I learned the power of my own lust with him. I don’t know how gassed I am to confirm that this isn’t true. Our sex was good because it was us. Yetusdidn’t work. We crashed, burned. Ultimately, right now we are two near-strangers. So why couldn’t I look into his eyes while he made me come undone?

When Malakai passes me the glass of water and my phone, his whole demeanour has shifted, drifted.We weren’t exactly cosy before, but now he’s barely looking at me. He doesn’t even sit back down next to me, instead busying himself with putting his shirt back on, moving his fancy Japanese luggage around– that luggage does not need to be moved around. He’s doinganythingbut engaging with me. It stings, and I’m angry at myself for letting it; if he wants to be a dick about it, it’s fine with me. My phone has come alive with power, and as I open it to call an Uber I see a text has come in:

Bakari

Kiki. . . you look stunning. I’m an idiot for missing out on tonight. I should have been there for you even with everything going on. Hope you’re keeping well. Love.

It’s in reply to a picture I’d sent him earlier in the evening, before Malakai had arrived– what I dubbed a Freakum Selfie, one taken in the flattering light of the hotel bathroom, tits pushed out, hips jutted to the side, gaze seductive, mouth slightly parted. It was designed to fuck with him. Clearly it did the job, but the satisfaction I expected to feel is muted for some reason. I notice the time stamp– it was sent a few minutes ago. My eyes jump over to where Malakai is folding his shirts away. Why is hefoldinghis clothes away when he’s leaving this hotel in two days? What a freak. My palms prick with nameless anxiety. I have no doubt in my mind that he saw the text. Technically, I don’t owe him an explanation, and technically this has nothing to do with him. Still, I feel uncomfortable, icky and, bizarrely, a feeling of betrayal. The question of who I’m betraying swirls in my psyche unanswered. It might be myself.

After I book my Uber, I clear my throat. ‘Malakai.’

Malakai looks up at me and smiles a customer-service smile. It cuts me. ‘Kiki.’

‘I know you saw the text.’

‘So?’

He’s right.So?He doesn’t give a shit because why should he? He doesn’t want me like that.Idon’t want him like that.

I clear my throat again. ‘I just. . . don’t want there to be any confusion. Any messiness. I just want to be clear that this. . . this is all above board.’ I struggle to find the right words to navigate this. Above board? What is this– a business negotiation?Isthis a business negotiation? How do people even talk about having sex with their ex while on a break with their boyfriend? ‘Um, I’m unattached.’ Maybe not like this.

Malakai looks at me with a wryness cut with dark incredulity. ‘Yeah? Man’s texting you at 2 a.m. Seems pretty fucking attached to me.’

It clips at me, and I slip my head to the side, my defences coming through like barbed wire. ‘Yeah, well, you know what, Malakai? Not everyone goes no contact when they break up with someone. Some people still give a shit.’

Malakai’s brow twitches, irritation clouding his features before it clears, his face immediately placid. He shrugs. ‘The great thing about this arrangement is that I don’t have to get into it with you. It’s cool. What’s there to be confused about? We both have our own shit going on. Like we said, this is a one-time thing. This was a little thrill from your regular life, and this was. . . this was a nice way for me to be welcomed back to London.’

Nice.Nice.Like I took him to dinner at Nando’s and not to Nirvana with how I rode him fifteen minutes ago. It’s like I could have been anyone. Maybe I could have been anyone. Maybe Iamanyone to him. My stomach drops and I release a humourless laugh before shaking my head, gathering my things.

‘Real mature,’ I mutter under my breath.

Malakai stops moving around the room, turns to me. ‘How am I immature, Kiki? We both got what we wanted out of this.’ He pauses. ‘Unless you’re feeling guilty?’