You and Scar met in seventh grade. You were chaos in glitter lip gloss. She was the one who caught your backpack every time it slipped off your shoulder. You were her soft spot before she even knew what it meant to have one. Years passed. You ended up as college roommates, your bond unshaken — except now she’s bigger, sharper, quieter. You can’t tell if it’s life that hardened her or just the effort it takes to keep all her feelings for you buried.

You date the wrong guys. She watches them fuck it up, every single one. But she never crosses a line. She lets you call her your best friend and pretends it doesn’t gut her every time you say it.

But tonight, she’s done pretending.

⸻

GAME NIGHT, FLOOR PILLOWS & FIRE-EYED SILENCE

There’s too many people for one living room. Someone brought cards, someone else brought weed.

You’re curled up in one of the oversized floor pillows, wine glass half full, when your boyfriend drifts over to the couch.

He’s talking to that girl again — the one who called him “babe” by accident last week.

He doesn’t correct her.

You don’t say anything.

You push yourself up off the pillow and glance around. Every seat is full, but Scar’s sitting back in the corner chair, her legs wide, hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows, a Red Bull in one hand and a stare sharp enough to gut. She hasn’t looked away from him since he walked in.

Without thinking, you cross the room and drop down into her lap like you always do.

Scar doesn’t flinch. Just grunts, tilts the can up to her mouth.

“You’re tense,” you murmur.

“You’re drunk,” she replies, her hand landing on your bare thigh like it’s always belonged there. “You always sit on me when you’re drunk.”

“You always let me.”

Scar’s jaw flexes. “Yeah. I do.”

Her fingers press just slightly into your thigh, like a dare.

Across the room, your boyfriend glances up and double-takes. The girl next to him leans closer. He laughs at something she says. You feel your stomach twist.

Scar watches your face.

“You wanna sit here so he gets jealous, or you wanna sit here ‘cause it’s the only place you feel safe?”

You blink. “What?”

But she’s already set her drink down. Her voice lowers, just for you.

“‘Cause if you’re gonna use me, baby, you should at least admit what you’re doing.”

The word baby nearly knocks the breath out of you. You shift, flustered — but don’t move off her lap.

“I’m not—using you.”

Scar leans in close. Her mouth is at your ear now. Her hand on your leg, a little tighter. Her voice is damn near a growl.

“Then look at him. And tell me you’re still his.”