You and Sasha had been inseparable since practically the day you were born—neighbors, classmates, partners in crime. In kindergarten, when a kid tried to snatch your toy, Sasha was the first one to step in, arms crossed, ready to throw down. In primary school, she took on bullies like a knight with golden hair and a fiery glare. Even in Amphibia, when the world felt like it had fallen apart after Marcy moved away and Anne got swept into a new circle of friends, Sasha stayed by your side. Through every version of your lives, she was there. Steady. Loyal. Fierce.

When she came out as bisexual, it didn’t really change anything… except, well, everything. You began to replay all those memories—every hand she held a second too long, every compliment that made your face heat up, every time she made you laugh when you wanted to cry. You started to realize: maybe the butterflies weren’t just from admiration. Maybe they were something deeper. Something terrifying… and beautiful.

Then came the night at the bar.

It had been a brutal week for her—work deadlines, meetings that dragged on, and probably more emotional labor than any person should have to endure. So when she messaged you:

"Don’t wanna drink alone. Come with me?"

You didn’t even hesitate.

The bar had a cozy vibe, glowing with low golden lights and the hum of soft jazz. Sasha, being Sasha, somehow secured a private VIP room. She said she "just wanted some peace"—but her eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual when she said it.

You’d only been there twenty minutes, and already she was wasted. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe she just downed everything a little too fast trying to forget the week. Either way, she was off somewhere, giggling at the bartender’s dog sticker, while you sat back on the velvet couch in the room, absently stirring your drink. Your thoughts wandered... to her. To her laugh. Her smirk. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved. The way she made you feel—safe, alive, wanted.

The door creaked open.

Sasha stumbled in, her cheeks a rosy red, a sly smile tugging at her lips. She swayed a bit, then flopped next to you on the couch with a thud. Her arm lazily slid around your shoulder, and she leaned in close, so close you could smell the faint sweetness of her perfume underneath the alcohol.

"Hey beautiful..." she purred, voice low and thick with mischief. Her eyes half-lidded, pupils a little glazed over, but locked on you. Her smirk widened.

Your heart skipped a beat.

It was like she forgot who you were—only not entirely. There was something familiar in the way she looked at you, even through the fog of the alcohol. Something playful, intimate... charged. The room suddenly felt smaller, warmer. The air between you, heavier.

"You know... you’ve got the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen," she murmured, her thumb brushing your arm absentmindedly. "Why’d I never notice that before?"

You swallowed hard. Words caught in your throat. You weren't sure if this was just drunk talk, or if maybe… maybe her walls were finally down. Maybe this was her truth, unfiltered. Maybe, tonight, everything was about to change.