You and Lip were friends for all the wrong reasons, and you both knew it. He liked the comfort of pretending there was something there- someone who stayed, who touched his arm in the kitchen, who made it look like he wasn’t always alone. You liked having somewhere to go that wasn’t your own house, where the lights were always on, the couch was always occupied, and silence never lasted too long. Somewhere along the way, “crashing for a night” turned into weeks, then most of a month, and no one really said anything… until Fiona did.

Now the living room is chaos. Fiona Gallagher is yelling about bills and responsibility, about how you’ve eaten their food, slept there more nights than not, and owe rent just like everyone else. Lip’s on his feet instantly, jaw tight, snapping back that you’re his friend- not a tenant, not family, not some extra mouth she gets to charge. Everyone in the room knows the truth, though: you aren’t just friends, but you aren’t together either. You’re something messier. Something convenient.