Letters I never sent | Englot AU

VI

Cicely

Cicely hiccups as she downs another shot of tequila. Her phone buzzes, indicating a reply. She hesitates, then slams the glass down, eyes watering. She grabs her phone, swiping open to see Euna's message.

**Euna:** (11:17 PM) ...Cicely?

The response comes back slow, hesitant, like a ship battling a storm of doubt. The single word, her name, carries the weight of a thousand unspoken apologies and longing glances across crowded rooms.

**Cicely:** (11:17 PM) Yeah. Me. The ghost of your past, haunting your tequila dreams.

A watery giggle punctuates the text, the sound shaky, laced with a desperation to mask the vulnerability beneath. It's a familiar defense mechanism, Euna told her.

**Euna:** (11:18 PM) you okay? Where are you? Need someone to pick you up?

**Cicely:** (11:20 PM) Yeahhh, Im goof..

Cicely throws the phone on the bar, but it bounces back, landing open with Euna's face staring back at her. She's calling. Cicely snatches it, thumb hovering over the "Decline" button.

She swigs straight from the bottle, eyes squeezed shut. Then, with a shaky breath, she hits "Accept."

"Hey, Stranger."

Cicely's heart stutters.

"Hey, You..." she replies.

Silence stretches, punctuated only by the bar's muffled noise.

"You alright?"

Cicely laughs, a harsh, brittle sound. Then she breaks.

"Alright? Me? I'm fantastic. Just celebrating a year of pretending I'm over the woman who makes my knees weak with a single word."

A long pause. Cicely hears Euna's breath hitching.

"Look, I..." Euna stutters. Cicely interrupts, shutting her eyes frustratedly.

"No, you don't get to look. You don't get to explain. You walked away, Euna. You chose them over us. And now I'm drowning in awards shows and empty hotel rooms, wondering what it would be like to taste your lipstick again."

Tears stream down Cicely's face, her voice thick with emotion. She inhales sharply, waiting for Euna's response.

"God, Cicely. Don't you think I wonder the same thing every time I see your face plastered on a billboard?" Euna laughs bitterly, as broken as Cicely sounds herself.

"Then why? Why did you let them break us? We could've fought. You said we would."

Euna's voice breaks as she replies. "I was scared. Scared of losing everything. My career, my family, you. I thought it was the only way to protect you."

Cicely's breath catches. A choked sob escapes her lips.

"And did it protect me, Euna? Did it make the ache go away? Did it stop me from seeing your ghost in every damn movie poster?"

Silence again, heavier this time.

"No. It didn't. Every award feels hollow. Every applause sounds like your name I can't say out loud. This isn't living, Cicely. It's existing. And I'm tired of existing without you."

Cicely's grip tightens on the phone, knuckles white. The admission cracks her facade, a tiny fissure revealing the raw vulnerability beneath. The truth, finally spoken, hangs heavy in the digital air.

"Me too." She replies in a whisper.

A beat. Then, a shaky laugh from the other end.

The words are a shared exhale, a release of the unspoken grief that's festered for months. The dam breaks, and the conversation flows, a torrent of memories, regrets, and whispered "what ifs."

They talk about their latest roles, the hollow victories of awards season, the ache of seeing each other across crowded shows. They laugh, cry, and everything in between.

As the clock ticks towards sunrise, the tequila wears off, leaving behind a bittersweet hangover and a fragile hope. The conversation ends not with a goodbye, but with a tentative, "Maybe we can talk again soon?"

And maybe, just maybe, this drunken exchange is not the end, but the beginning of a new chapter. One written by themselves.