you don’t notice it at first. too busy laughing, too wrapped up in the conversation with one of the newer patrol recruits—some girl with quick jokes and too-easy smiles.

but abby notices. of course she does.

she’s across the room, pretending to sharpen her knife even though she’s been done for ten minutes. her jaw’s tense. she keeps glancing up every few seconds, watching the way you lean in when the girl says something funny, the way your fingers brush hers when she hands you your flask back.

abby knows it’s harmless. she knows. but it doesn’t stop the heat curling in her chest. that stupid, restless edge she hates.

you finally catch her staring. give her a little wave, grinning.

she doesn’t wave back.

you excuse yourself and walk over. “hey. you good?”

abby shrugs, eyes dropping to her knife again. “fine.”

“you sure? you look like you’re about to stab someone. and not in the fun, patrol-sanctioned way.”

she finally looks up, face unreadable. “you looked like you were having fun.”

you blink, caught off guard. “...i was just talking.”

“yeah. i could tell.”

something in her voice makes your stomach flip.

“abby,” you say gently, “are you—are you jealous?”

she scoffs. “don’t be ridiculous.”