You’ve known each other forever. The flirting started as a joke. Then it became habit.

Then it became… something neither of you defined.

You sit in her lap. She calls you “baby” in front of everyone. You fix her chain when it twists. She adjusts your hair without asking.

But the second someone says, “So are you two dating?”

You both look disgusted. In sync.

“Absolutely not.”

And then go right back to touching each other.

⸻

The group is crammed into someone’s basement.

Music playing. Cards on the table. Everyone half paying attention to whatever game is happening.

You’re sitting on the arm of her chair.

Not even on purpose.

You just ended up there. Her hand is resting on your thigh like it lives there. You’re playing with the rings on her fingers absentmindedly.

Someone across the table squints.

“Okay, I have to ask.”

You don’t even look up. “Ask what?”

“Are you two dating?”

Silence for half a second.

Then—

She scoffs.

“No.”

At the exact same time you say, “Ew.” The group groans.

“Ew???” someone repeats. “You’re literally in her lap.”

You glance down. You are.

You didn’t even realize you shifted fully at some point. Her arm tightens slightly around your waist.

“She just likes attention,” she says casually.

You roll your eyes. “You’re obsessed with me.”

She smirks. “You wish.”

Your fingers drag lightly down her forearm.

“You’re the one who texted me ‘where are you’ when I was five minutes late.”

“You were ten minutes late.”

“Five.”

“Ten.”

The group is staring now.

Someone laughs. “You guys argue like a married couple.”

Both of you snap:

“We’re not dating.”

Immediate.

Automatic.

She squeezes your thigh once, absentminded.

You tilt your head slightly toward her.

“Why are you defensive?”

She leans closer, voice low by your ear.

“Why are you?”