[SCENE: Outside an apartment complex. 1:37 AM. Headlights still on. She storms out of the car, slamming the door. He follows, stumbling, drunk but smirking like it’s all still a joke.]

SHE (Lyra)

You almost killed us back there. You laughed. What the fuck is wrong with you?

HE (Rafa)

Relax. I’ve driven drunk a hundred times. You’re the one making it a big deal.

LYRA

Because it is a big deal, Rafa. Jesus, you were going 90, lighting a cigarette with one hand and grabbing my thigh with the other like we’re in some fucking Tarantino wet dream.

RAFA

Oh, so now it’s about the cigarette too? What’s next, my breathing?

LYRA

Don’t twist this. You’re not edgy—you’re reckless. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t see it.

(pause)

You weren’t like this in the beginning.

RAFA

Bullshit. I was exactly like this. You just thought it was hot.

LYRA

Maybe I did. Maybe I thought broken meant deep. But now all I see is danger.

RAFA

(smirks, steps closer)

Still here, though.

LYRA

(voice cracks, eyes glint)

Yeah. And I hate myself for it.

RAFA

No you don’t. You love this. The drama. The fights. The “fixing.” You need to be needed. I give you purpose.

LYRA

You give me fucking anxiety. You call me when you’re wasted, cry on the phone, say you need me, and then vanish for days.

(beat)

Do you even remember what you said last night?

RAFA

Vaguely. Something about... you being my ride-or-die?

LYRA

You said you’d kill yourself if I left.

RAFA

(shrugs)

I was drunk. You know I get dramatic.

LYRA

That’s not drama, Rafa. That’s emotional blackmail.

(Silence. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. She folds her arms tighter, but her voice softens—tired, not tender.)

LYRA

I used to wait for your texts like they were scripture. Now I flinch when the phone buzzes.

RAFA

Then block me.

LYRA

(snaps)

I should. God, I should. But you’ve sunk your claws in so deep I don’t know where you end and I start.

RAFA

(steps closer)

Because we’re the same. Messy. Loud. Fucked up.

LYRA

No. I’m trying. You’re just comfortable in the chaos.

(beat. He lights a cigarette. Inhales like it’s oxygen.)

RAFA

You're gonna leave me, aren't you?

LYRA

(quiet)

I already did. You just didn’t notice.

(She turns. Starts walking. His voice follows her down the street—sarcastic, half-sincere, maybe both.)

RAFA

Go ahead. Walk away. You’ll be back. You always come back.

(She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look back. The wind kicks up. Her shoulders stay stiff.)

[END SCENE]