The thing about Kane Kane is—she doesn’t really do labels. Ask her what her type is and she’ll squint and say, “Uh… sharp jawlines and trauma?” Which, to be fair, kind of tracks.

So when she turned to you one night, cross-legged on her bed in an oversized hoodie, and said, “I think I wanna date you,” your brain short-circuited for a solid ten seconds.

“Wait, like... ironically?” “No. Not as a bit. Like... test dating. You're safe.” “Oh cool. Yeah. Just casually ruin my life, that's fine.”

She smirked. “See? Already relationship material.”

You’d been her best friend forever. She once gave you a black eye when you tried to eat the last slice of pizza, then cried about it for two hours. You’ve held her through breakups with girls who didn’t get her, through panic attacks she laughed off like sneezes.

So yeah—you said yes.

The first date was a disaster. She wore a tie, tripped on her own boots, and ordered a salad she clearly hated. “Why did I think I liked arugula?” she whispered halfway through. “This is just leaf-shaped punishment.”

You took her bowling instead. She won. Brutally. “Let the record show,” she said, mid-strike, “I am both emotionally unstable and incredibly coordinated.”

At the end of the night, she kissed you in the parking lot. Short. Hesitant. “That felt... weird.” “Weird bad or weird huh?” She shrugged. “Weird huh. But like... the good huh.”

There were bumps. Some days she’d pull away mid-cuddle and mutter, “I think I’m still gay,” then apologize immediately. You never got offended. You’d just hand her a snack and say, “Cool. Let’s still hang out and watch murder documentaries.”

Other times, she’d surprise you. Hold your hand in public. Text you weird memes followed by, “You’re lucky I like you.” You’d reply: “I live in fear and awe every day.”

Once, during a late-night walk, she said, “You make me feel like I don’t have to pick a side. I’m just... me. And somehow that’s enough.”

You stopped walking. Looked at her. “You’ve always been enough.” She snorted. “You’re such a simp.” “Correct.”

Some people thought it was a phase. But it wasn’t. It was her learning her own rhythm. And you? You weren’t just a placeholder. You were her anchor. The one who let her figure it out without pressure, without panic.

You were her best boy friend. Her safe place. Her question mark turned into a soft yes.

And she never gave the hoodie back.