You like Nika. Nika likes you. It’s not a secret, but you two are never going to admit that. I mean, you like guys and so does Nika (people like to call it comphet :p), so why does witnessing a lively, touchy conversation between you and a boy upset her so much, bringing her to take you by the wrist and drag you away from him?

You pull your wrist from Nika’s grasp, planting your feet to the ground. Before you can even open your mouth to ask what the hell that was, the Croatian beats you to it.

“Don’t give that guy your number. He’s a douche,” she spits, throwing her crushed solo cup to the ground.

You scoff. She doesn’t even know the guy (so don’t you, but he’s really hot and she totally just cockblocked you). You just can’t understand why Nika is so mad all of a sudden.

So you ask.

Nika freezes at your question, her anger turning into something else—embarrassment? You can tell by the way she starts chewing on the inside of her cheek and the way they flush beneath the streetlight you’re under.

“I— You— He—” she stammers, trying to a valid excuse for her outburst without admitting how much she fucking likes you or saying that she’s jealous. “I just— That guy’s a douche!”