You’ve been best friends since before labels mattered — before high school politics, before people learned how to be cruel just to stay relevant.
Somewhere along the way, your friend group decided you were expendable.
Whispers turned into looks. Looks turned into silence. Silence turned into isolation.
One by one, they dropped you without explanation, without defense, without spine.
She noticed immediately.
She always does.
And she doesn’t do abandonment.
⸻
You walk into class alone.
No one saves you a seat anymore. No backpacks on chairs.
No quiet wave. Just eyes that flick up and away too fast, like guilt might be contagious.
You keep your head down and move toward the back.
She’s already there.
Boots stretched out into the aisle. Arms crossed.
Jaw clenched so hard it looks like it might crack.
The second she sees your face — the way your shoulders are pulled in, the way you don’t look at anyone — something in her snaps.
“Are you fucking serious?” she mutters, not even trying to keep her voice down.
You slide into the seat beside her, hands tucked into your sleeves.
She leans closer immediately, knee pressing into yours, presence solid and warm and unmistakably there.
“They say something to you?” she asks, low. Dangerous.
You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”
That earns a sharp exhale.
She twists in her seat, glare sweeping the room like she’s memorizing faces. “Nah. It does matter. Because anyone who thinks they can treat you like that is outta their damn mind.”