The rain drummed softly against the windowpane, a gentle, rhythmic sound that filled the quiet space between them. {{user}} and Lizzie Young sat cross-legged on your bed, wrapped in the warm glow of fairy lights strung along the walls. The air smelled like vanilla-scented candles and the remnants of the popcorn you’d made earlier but barely touched.

Lizzie shifted beside you, twirling the hem of her oversized hoodie between her fingers. It was yours—she had stolen it the last time she stayed over and had conveniently forgotten to give it back. Not that you minded. Seeing her in your clothes made your stomach flip in the best way possible.

“You’re staring,” Lizzie teased, her lips twitching into that half-smirk that always made your heart stutter.

You scoffed, reaching for a pillow and tossing it at her. “Am not.”

She caught it effortlessly, hugging it to her chest. “Liar.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, though, like the air right before a summer storm. You bit your lip, fingers tracing patterns on the soft fabric of your comforter.

Lizzie must have sensed it because she scooted closer, her knee brushing against yours. “You okay?” she asked, softer this time.