It was just a sleepover. That’s what you kept telling yourself. You were lying on her floor, limbs tangled in soft blankets and pillows that smelled like her shampoo.

Sydney was lying on her side, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands as she talked in that casual, sleepy mumble she got when she felt comfortable. “Okay, so you know in gym, when Caplan made us run laps and I ate shit in the grass? Like, hardcore face-plant? I still think about that at 2 a.m. Emotional scarring. I should sue.”

You let out a soft laugh, pretending you were more focused on the story than you actually were. Truthfully, your mind had been spiraling all night. About Sydney. About Brad. About Stan.

You hated Stan. He was always around, always talking, always making Syd laugh with his weird ramblings about records or sci-fi or whatever else he was into. And Syd said he was just a friend—she swore up and down that he was just a friend—but something about the way she looked at him sometimes made your stomach twist. Like maybe she looked at him the way you looked at her.

She raised a brow. “{{user}}, you good? You’re being like… suspiciously quiet.”

You stayed quiet, convincing yourself —again— that this wasn’t what it looked like. That you weren’t catching feelings for your best friend. That you were straight. That Brad —Brad, of all people—was what you wanted. Brad was easier to explain than Syd. Liking Brad didn’t mess with your entire sense of self. But liking Sydney… that scared you.

She rolled onto her back beside you, your shoulders barely brushing. “Just saying, if you are talking to Brad again, I might have to stage an intervention.”

You looked at her—really looked at her—and felt your heart skip like it always did when her voice got quiet and sincere like that. She didn’t even realize what she did to you just by being. Her hand brushed against yours and your breath hitched a little.