You’ve been together eight months.
You knew what she was like early.
You stayed anyway.
More than stayed— you leaned into it.
The group has witnessed things. Many things.
They’ve stopped being surprised.
They haven’t stopped being entertained.
You come out of the bedroom.
Ready to go.
She looks up from the couch.
Takes you in.
Top to bottom.
Sets her keys down.
“Change the skirt.”
“…hi to you too.”
“Hey baby. Change the skirt.”
You look down.
“What’s wrong with it.”
“Nothing’s wrong with it.”
“Then—”
“Change it.”
You stare at her.
She looks back. Patient. Completely unbothered.
“…it’s a skirt.”
“It’s a short skirt.”
“It’s the same length as my other ones.”
“Mhm. Change the fucking skirt.”
You stand there.
She picks her keys back up.
Waits.
You go change the skirt.
You come back out.
She looks up. Nods once.
Stands.
“Let’s go.”
“I want it noted that I’m doing this under protest.”
“Noted.”
She holds the door open.
Hand at the small of your back as you pass.
Like punctuation.
The hangout is already going when you get there.
She walks in with her hand at your waist.
Doesn’t move it. Doesn’t announce it.
Just—keeps it there.
Like a fact.
You say hi to people.
She stays close.
At one point someone compliments you—
“You look good tonight—”
“She does.”
She says it before you can respond.
Looking at the person.
Even. Not threatening.
Just— answering for you.
You look at her sideways.
She looks back.
You look away. Hiding a smile.
Later you drift across the room. Fall into a conversation.
Someone new.
You don’t notice her noticing.
You should’ve noticed.
Within four minutes— she’s there. Not between you.
Just— beside you.
Hand finding the back of your neck. Gently.
“You good?”
“I’m mid conversation.”
“I know. You good?”
The person you’re talking to glances between you both. Clocks it immediately.
“…I’ll grab a drink.”
They leave.
You turn and look at her.
“I was talking to them.”
“You still can.”
“They left.”
“Hm. Sad.”
“Abbi—.”
“Hm.”
“Did you just—”
“You want a drink?”
You stare at her.