You and Gabe have been going through a rough patch lately, though calling it that almost sounds like you’re talking about a pothole instead of the emotional pothole you’re navigating. And then there’s Gabe’s best friend, Anastasia—who somehow manages to be both charming and just the tiniest bit irritating.

She’s beautiful—no argument there. You’re not the jealous type, really. But she has this way of flirting so subtly that even you sometimes miss it until later, like a ninja with a sugar-coated dagger. Take the other night, for example, when she reached up to “fix” Gabe’s hair. Her fingers lingered a little too long, and you swear Gabe’s entire body tensed like someone just told him there’s spinach in his teeth. He looked uncomfortable—like, “I didn’t sign up for this” uncomfortable—but too polite to say anything.

Tonight, it’s a small, intimate party with a few friends. The music hums softly, voices blend into the background, and there’s Anastasia again, hand sliding onto Gabe’s shoulder, thumb casually stroking as she laughs at something only he said. Your chest tightens—equal parts irritation and determination.

Without overthinking it, you cross the room, place a hand on his arm, and spin him toward you like you’re taking back what’s yours.

Then you kiss him.

Not a shy peck, but something warm and deliberate—a clear message wrapped in lips: he’s yours, no debate, no argument, and no room for “accidental” shoulder massages.