You’d been telling yourself all morning that it wasn’t a big deal. Just some cupcakes. Not a concert, not an interview, not a presentation in front of a hundred people. Just… sugar, flour, and an attempt at chocolate frosting. Something even a child could make without feeling the whole world was judging them. But for you, it was a step a small challenge against that voice that always whispers you’re not enough.

You placed them on the table with a certain shyness, as if they were fragile artifacts. Johnny was busy, surrounded by his crew, talking and making plans for the next date. You didn’t expect an ovation, but you did hope… that he’d try one. That he’d smile at you with that awkward, warm look he always saves just for you.

Later, you walked down the hallway and found one of the crew guys eating one. You recognized the clumsy shape of your frosting. Your stomach turned to ice. It wasn’t him. Johnny hadn’t touched them.

You felt a sharp blow in your chest, as if something inside tightened. Anxiety crawled up your throat: tingling in your hands, heat flooding your face, the crushing certainty that you’d made a fool of yourself. You weren’t good at cooking. You weren’t good at anything social. And even the one person who should have noticed with kindness… didn’t.

You didn’t say anything.

“Oh… shit…” Johnny’s voice came low, guilty. He walked toward you slowly, as if he didn’t want to startle you more. “Love… I didn’t realize, I was…” He trailed off, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, full of that mix of worry.