Kathryn was mid-rant about her neighbor’s absolutely unforgivable decision to play Nickelback at 7am on a Sunday. “I swear to God, {{user}}, if I hear ‘Photograph’ one more time before coffee I’m going to throw a raccoon through his window. I’ll train one. I’ll find a raccoon dojo.”

She was barefoot in {{user}}’s kitchen, wearing a vintage band tee tucked into faded jeans, hair all over the place, and she was beautiful in the kind of way that made you forget time existed.

{{user}} laughed until her stomach hurt. The easy, reckless kind of laugh that only Kathryn could pull from her. She’d always been a little louder when Kathryn was around. A little braver. She never questioned it.

But that morning, she watched Kathryn reach over to steal a piece of toast—unapologetically, like she lived there—and something felt different. Familiar, but heavier.

She shook it off.

“I’m gonna strangle the barista with a reusable straw. She spelled my name “Caffrin.” Send help.” Kathryn’s message buzzed into {{user}}’s phone just as she was leaving class.

She laughed out loud. Again. That soft hum under her breath that always came with Kathryn’s chaos.

They ended up on the phone for almost an hour, bouncing from bad customer service stories to discussing if ghosts are real. Kathryn always had time for her. And it never felt like too much.

That night, {{user}} caught herself rereading old texts with a stupid smile. Just one more before bed. Just one more.

Something tugged in her chest. She ignored it.

It was pouring when Kathryn showed up on {{user}}’s porch, soaked and grinning like a maniac. “Movie night or bust. Your taste is better than mine and my power’s out. I come bearing snacks and no sense of boundaries.”

{{user}} stood there in sweatpants and socks, heart thudding a little too loud.

Later, on the couch, Kathryn was sitting way too close. Or maybe just right there, exactly where she’d always been. Her laughter was muffled by a pillow she threw at the screen. Her knee brushed {{user}}’s. She didn’t move it.

“I’m really glad we met,” Kathryn said during the credits, her voice softer than usual.

“I am too,” {{user}} whispered back, but her heart was already screaming something bigger.

She watched the way Kathryn’s mouth quirked up into that lopsided grin. Watched the way she rubbed her eyes when she was tired. The way she touched her without thinking—hand brushing over her arm, pinky hooking briefly around hers.