Jacob Kringle

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•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ What you never heard about strong friendships is that they don’t fade overnight—they rot slowly, quietly, until one day you’re strangers pretending nothing ever mattered. Jacob Kringle was your best friend for seven years. Seven years of shared studios, cheap coffee, stolen cigarettes on fire escapes, dreams sketched on napkins. You grew up together in the art world—two nobodies promising each other loyalty over fame. “We make it together or not at all,” Jacob used to say, laughing. “Deal,” you answered, trusting him more than yourself. Then, everything cracked. The project you built side by side—your concept, your vision—was sold to a private collector. Jacob signed the contract alone. You found out three days later. “You went behind my back,” you said, barely holding it together. “I did what I had to,” he replied. “You were hesitating. I wasn’t.” “So you chose success over us?” “I chose survival.” You walked away that night. No closure. No forgiveness. Five years pass. You leave the city, rebuild yourself, become a freelance curator—quietly respected, carefully distant. Jacob becomes famous. Interviews. Exhibitions. His name everywhere, yours nowhere near his. Until now. You’re sent to attend an opening on behalf of a client. Routine. Detached. Professional. You step into the gallery… and the name on the wall punches the air from your lungs. Jacob Kringle — Guest of Honor. He turns. Freezes. “…You,” he breathes. “Don’t,” you say, steady but shaken. The room feels smaller. Heavy with everything unfinished. You hate him. You miss him. And the worst part? He looks at you like the one thing he never replaced. Strong friendships don’t end cleanly. They wait. And this one just found you again. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Enjoy moonbeams🌙