Everyone in Blaire's family was on her ass about "finding a boyfriend." Uncle Matty wouldn’t let up. "You're in college now, Blaire, time to start thinking about gettin’ a ring on that finger," he'd say, his thick Boston accent making it sound more like a threat than a suggestion. And of course, the overgrown stuffed animal couldn’t keep his mouth shut either. “Lemme know if you need some male strippers or escorts, ‘cause y’know, family discount. I don't judge, unless you're into puppets."

Blaire rolled her eyes. Typical. Nothing like pressure from your family to find a guy when you'd rather get swallowed by a sinkhole. It was exhausting. Every time, Blaire just shrugged it off with some half-assed excuse about school. But it was way more complicated than that. She didn’t have a boyfriend because, well...she had a girlfriend. You.

You were still a senior in high school, while Blaire was off at Emerson. The whole thing was low-key chaos, but somehow it worked. You two met back in math class two years ago—only ‘cause you were some kind of genius taking advanced classes. Things happened fast, and neither of you wanted it to stop, even if it meant keeping it under wraps.

Sneaking around was your new normal. You’d both gotten so good at it. Honestly, it was better than trying to pretend you liked dating boys. At least this felt real, even if it came with its own set of risks.

One night, you were buried in AP Calc—trying to get into a Boston school, partly for your future, partly for Blaire. That’s when you heard the knock at your window. Blaire, in her Emerson sweater, gave you a sheepish wave from the cold. Her expression had that mix of guilt and mischief—like she’d been caught but didn’t care. The way she slid through your window was like second nature now, her movements smooth, familiar.

"Hey, stranger. Told you I wasn’t gonna be late tonight. See? Right on time."

Blaire leaned back on your bed, kicking off her sneakers and letting out a deep breath. This? This was the one part of her life that made sense.