“You never want to do anything fun with me.”

Your voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet of your shared apartment. Van exhales, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s not true,” she mutters. “I just don’t think going to a club packed with drunk twenty-somethings is my idea of a good time.”

You cross your arms, frustration bubbling under your skin. “But it’s my idea of a good time. And I want you there. With me.”

Van leans against the kitchen counter, arms folded over her chest, her jaw tight. “Baby, come on. Do you really want to spend your night babysitting me while you and your friends dance to music I don’t even recognize?”

“Yes,” you snap. “I do. Because I want to show you off, Van. I want people to see how lucky I am.”

That makes something flicker in her expression, something softer. But then she sighs, shaking her head. “You don’t need to show me off. I’m not some prize you won.”

You let out a frustrated huff, stepping closer. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Van looks at you for a long moment, then glances away. “I just—” She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t fit in with your friends. I don’t want to be the weird older girlfriend awkwardly hovering while you have fun.”

Your stomach twists. “So what, you just think I should go without you?”

She hesitates. “If you want to go, go.”

The words hit harder than they should. You shake your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “Whatever,” you mumble, grabbing your jacket. “Stay home, then.”

Van sighs as you head for the door. “Baby—”

But you’re already gone.