The cafeteria is loud, a mess of voices and clattering trays, but at our usual table, the noise folds into something familiar. The boys are talking shite, Gibsie leading the charge as always, grinning like he’s just waiting to stir trouble.

"I’m just sayin’, right," Gibsie starts, hands gesturing wildly as he leans back in his chair. "If you had to fight a chicken every morning to leave your house, like, proper life-or-death scenario, would you do it, or would you just accept never leaving the house again?"

Claire, sitting next to him, lollipop in her mouth, nods along like this is a perfectly reasonable conversation. "Do I get a weapon?"

"A spoon."

"Jesus Christ, tough choice."

Johnny sighs, shaking his head. "Why the fuck would you fight a chicken with a spoon, Gibsie?"

"Character development, Johnny."

Shannon snorts, curled into Johnny’s side, completely at home there. Lizzie, as expected, looks like she wants to throttle Gibsie. "I swear to God, you get stupider by the day."

Gibsie ignores her like he usually does.

Lizzie huffs, and I don’t miss the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. What I do miss, for a second, is Hughie’s gaze sliding toward her, subtle but unmistakable.

And then there’s {{user}}, her attention fixed on Hughie like nothing else in the world matters. She’s laughing at something he said, leaning in just slightly, and it makes my chest ache in a way I’ve never been able to shake.

I should be used to this by now, should’ve buried it, let it settle into something softer, something that doesn’t weigh on me so heavy. But here I am, sitting across from her, strumming my fingers absently against the table, trying to pretend I don’t notice.

Because she only has eyes for Hughie. And I only have eyes for her.