it’s been creeping up on you in quiet, uncomfortable moments — the way nancy’s attention drifts whenever steve walks into the room, how her voice softens without her realizing it, how she lingers in conversations that should’ve ended minutes ago. you told yourself it was nothing. old history, unresolved threads, shared danger. that’s all. but doubt has a way of settling deep, curling tight around your ribs until you can’t ignore it anymore.

now you’re standing in her bedroom, the door closed, the familiar scent of her perfume lingering in the air. the desk is cluttered with notebooks and newspaper clippings, evidence of her restless mind. she’s near the window, arms crossed, already tense — like she felt this coming.

you take a breath, steadying yourself.

“are you… is something going on between you and steve?” you ask carefully, voice low.

nancy turns fast, eyes wide, a flash of defensiveness crossing her face before she can stop it.

“what? cheating? me? no, {{user}}, i wouldn’t,” she says evasively.

the words come out sharp, too quick, like she’s answering a question you didn’t actually ask. her gaze slides away from yours, jaw tightening as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear again and again.

that’s what hurts — not the denial, but how rehearsed it sounds.

you fold your arms, feeling the room shrink around you, the silence stretching heavy between you both.

“i didn’t say cheating,” you say softly, and the quiet that follows feels louder than any argument ever could.