Sarah’s room felt softer at night. The string lights across her walls glowed dim and warm, throwing little shadows against the ceiling. {{user}} sat crossed legged on the bed, wearing one of Sarah’s old OBX Surf Shop shirts that hung loose on her frame. Her hair was still damp from the late night swim they’d taken hours earlier, strands sticking to her cheeks in the heat. Sarah dropped next to her with a sigh, her own oversized tee slipping off one shoulder. “I’m so tired.”

“You’re the one who dragged me to the beach at midnight,” {{user}} pointed out, but her tone was soft. Safe.

“Worth it.”

A small smile tugged at {{user}}’s mouth, even if she didn’t answer. For a while, neither of them spoke. Music played low from Sarah’s phone, some song they both knew but neither really listened to. The room smelled like coconut lotion and saltwater. Sarah shifted, propping herself on one elbow to look at {{user}}. “You okay?”

{{user}} blinked like she’d been pulled out of her own head. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“No, you’re not.”

The words lingered longer than they should’ve. {{user}}’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t argue. Sarah watched her carefully, then nudged her foot with her own. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit.”

{{user}} breathed out a soft laugh. “Stop reading me.”

“I’m not reading you. I just know you.”

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

The silence stretched, heavier now. Neither of them moved. Finally, Sarah shifted again, lying flat and staring at the ceiling. “You don’t have to say anything, you know.”

{{user}} looked over at her, voice quieter. “I know.”

Sarah’s hand was resting between them, loose, open. {{user}} almost reached for it, but didn’t.

Instead, she said, “I missed this.”

Sarah smiled without looking at her. “Yeah… me too.”