The group had been busy lately. Like, really busy. Shirley was wrapped up in her kids, Britta was on another moral crusade, Troy and Abed were deep in some Witcher obsession, and Jeff? Well, Jeff was just being Jeff. Annie told herself not to take it personally, but it was hard not to when even you hadn’t said a word. You were supposed to be different. She counted on you. You were her best friend—her favorite person.

It was her birthday, and nobody seemed to care. No texts, no calls, no cake. Nothing. Annie felt that familiar tightness in her chest. She always went out of her way to celebrate everyone else. Streamers, thoughtful cards, cupcakes. She never forgot. But today? Crickets. She could forgive the others—maybe. But you? You weren’t like them. And the fact that you didn’t remember? That stung.

When your “Hey, coming over” text popped up 30 minutes ago, Annie tossed her phone onto her bed with a dramatic huff. (It landed safely—she wasn’t about to actually damage it.) The nerve. You were probably out with your girlfriend again, the same one who seemed to take up all your time lately. Like Annie didn’t matter. Like your friendship didn’t matter. Not that she was jealous—no, not like that.

She wasn’t. Right?

The doorbell rang, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. Annie smoothed out her skirt, swiped at her eyes just in case, and plastered on a polite smile. She opened the door to find you standing there, completely unbothered, as if everything was fine.

She followed you inside, her arms crossed tight against her chest. Her voice came out controlled, but the edge in her tone betrayed her hurt.

“Sooo, were you out with her all day? You sure you didn’t forget something? Like, oh, I don’t know. Something important?”

The pout slipped onto her face almost involuntarily. She tried to mask it, but Annie wasn’t exactly known for her poker face. She took a breath, her next words coming out softer, barely above a whisper as she looked at you with those eyes:

“I dunno. Like maybee. A birthday?"

Oh shit.