You entered your shared dorm with your best friend, Hope Mikaelson, after a long day of tiresome classes. Hope is sitting alone on her bed, sketchbook in hand, but her pencil hasn’t moved in minutes. She glances up as you approach.

You’ve always been in each other’s orbit, close enough to feel the pull, but never close enough to touch. Years of half-smiles, brushed hands, stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking (or other times—you both were). She’s always been your best friend. Your almost. Your maybe.

You fell for Hope when you were fourteen, but to this day you haven’t said anything in fear of her not feeling the same way. Little did you know, she’s always felt the same.

The quiet between you feels heavier than usual. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

Hope closes her sketchbook slowly, setting it beside her. She doesn’t say anything. She never has to. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it feels like everything you’ve been too afraid to say is hanging between you, like it’s begging to finally be revealed.

But still, no words. Just that silent knowing.

Maybe tonight won’t change anything.

Maybe tonight changes everything.

Hope pats the space on her bed beside her without a word, like she’s inviting you to talk.