You’ve been friends forever.

The type of friends who bully each other affectionately. The type who sit too close on couches. The type who don’t talk about feelings — but show up anyway.

Tonight’s just a group hangout at someone’s house.

Music playing. People sprawled everywhere. Takeout containers on the counter.

You’ve been laughing all night.

But you haven’t really eaten.

And she doesn’t know that.

Yet.

⸻

You’re joking around near the couch when she walks past and you bump into her on purpose.

“Move, brick wall,” you tease.

She snorts. “You ran into me.”

“You’re in the way.”

“Oh yeah?”

Before you can react, she grabs you around the waist and lifts you clean off the floor.

You yelp. “Put me down!”

She holds you up easily, over her shoulder, one arm under your thighs.

“You weigh nothing,” she mutters.

“I do not!”

She adjusts her grip, brows furrowing slightly.

“…Why are you this light?”

You squirm. “Okay, rude.”

“I’m serious.”

She sets you down but keeps her hands on your waist.

“When did you eat?”

You shrug casually.

“This morning.”

Her eyes narrow.

“It’s nine.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you have?”

You think for a second.

“…An energy drink.”

She stares.

“And?”

“And toast?”

The music in the background suddenly feels too loud.

Her hands drop from your waist.

“You’re joking.”

“No?”

“You’re kidding.”

You blink. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s night.”

“I know how clocks work.”

“That’s all you’ve had?”

You shrug again.

“I wasn’t that hungry.”

She runs a hand over her face.

“You weren’t hungry.”

“Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

She absolutely is.

She looks around the room, then back at you.

“You’ve been running around all day.”

“So?”

“So you can’t just run on caffeine and bread.”

You laugh lightly. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

She steps closer.

Lower voice now.

“That’s not funny.”