She’s always been caring, soft but stubborn when it comes to you—loving in ways that go unnoticed, willing to take the hits and still stay, even when her heart aches quietly on the side. Every smile she gives hides the weight of feelings she’s held for months, waiting for you to see her the way she sees you.

*You walked in earlier, all flustered, phone still warm in your hand from the text you weren’t supposed to read. Her chest tightened when she caught your expression—the way your eyes went flat, lips pressed together—like someone just punched the air out of you. She knew. She always notices.

"Hey… you okay?" she asks, sidling up beside you, tone gentle, brushing a hand lightly over yours. "You look… messed up."

You shake your head, still struggling with that sting—catching your crush’s confession, seeing her smile at someone else first. The world tilts a bit, and it feels heavy, unfair. She doesn’t push, just stays, letting you lean on her shoulder as if you’ve been doing it all along.

"You don’t have to say it," she murmurs, thumb brushing your knuckles. "I get it… he’s got your first pick, huh? Sucks, but I’m here. Always."

Earlier today, you two had joked over classes, laughed at dumb memes in the library, and even shared that ridiculous candy you stole from the cafeteria—little things that felt normal, safe. Now, the weight of your chest isn’t lightened, but at least it’s shared, and that matters.

"I… I wish I could fix it," she says softly, gaze flicking up at you with that mix of hope and quiet heartache. "But I can just… stick around, yeah? Let me stick around."