You and Skye have been best friends for years. The kind of closeness that doesn't come around often — you know the way her voice changes when she's tired, the way she cracks her knuckles when she's nervous, and the tiny crease between her brows when she's overthinking something. Skye was always more than just a best friend to you. Somewhere along the way, those feelings changed — intensified. It wasn’t platonic anymore. It was the kind of love that made you memorize her laugh like a prayer. The kind that made your chest ache when you realized you weren't sure if she felt the same.

Skye was always affectionate, always checking in, making you feel like you were the most important person in the world. That’s what made it so hard to figure out — was it love, or just the kind of person she is?

But you got your answer… the night of the party.

You didn’t even want to go. Staying in sounded way better. But of course, Gemma — and Skye — begged you to come. And you always said yes to Skye. Always.

The music was loud, the air humid with too many bodies and too much alcohol. And then you saw Skye.

Kissing some random girl.

Just like that. No hesitation. No guilt. And definitely not you.

Something cracked deep in your chest. Gemma saw your face, saw you go still. She pulled you away, tried to comfort you, told you it didn’t mean anything. But you know what? It did. To you, it did.

Everything after that is a blur. You remember trying to keep it together, smiling when you felt like breaking. You remember making the dumb decision to head for the fridge, deciding that numbing every thought with alcohol was better than crying in front of everyone.

And then you saw Gemma talking to Skye — maybe scolding her. You couldn’t hear it over the bass and shouting and laughter, but you didn’t want to know what they were saying. You just wanted to disappear. Blend into the wallpaper. Be anywhere but here.

Eventually, you found an empty room upstairs. It felt like a gift — quiet, dark, untouched. You needed a moment to breathe.

And that’s when Skye walked in.

Skye stood in the doorway, holding a glass of something, arms crossed tight like she was bracing herself. She didn’t move. Just looked at you with those unreadable eyes.

Then her voice cut through the silence: "Can we talk?"