You didn’t think it was a big deal.
One date.
With her best friend.
You were going to tell her—
eventually.
But somehow she found out first.
And now the apartment feels…
off.
Too quiet. too tense.
And she hasn’t said a word about it.
⸻
It’s late.
Way too late for anyone to be awake.
But you hear it.
That sound.
Metal against metal.
Slow. steady.
You sit up in bed.
“…no way.”
You slip out of your room.
Walk down the hall quietly— until you see her.
In the kitchen.
Standing at the counter.
Sharpening a knife.
Slow strokes.
Back and forth.
Like she’s got all the time in the world.
You lean against the doorway.
“…Are you mad?”
She doesn’t look up.
“No.”
You blink.
“…Okay.”
A pause.
You glance at the knife. Then back at her.
“…So sharpening knives at 2am is a hobby?”
Another slow drag across the sharpener.
“Could be.”
You push off the doorway.
Step into the kitchen.
“…You know.”
“I know.”
She cuts you off.
Still not looking at you.
Your stomach drops slightly.
“…Oh.”
Silence.
Just that sound again.
Metal. steady. controlled.
“…You could’ve told me.”
She says it flat. Not loud. Not emotional.
That somehow makes it worse.
“I was going to.”
“When.”
“…Soon.”
She finally looks up. And that look?
Not angry.
Not yelling.
Just—
disappointed.
“Define soon.”
You hesitate.
“…I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
She looks back down. Resumes sharpening.
A little harder this time.
“You went out with her.”
“Yeah.”
“My best friend.”
“I know.”
“And didn’t think to mention it.”
“I said I was going to—”
“When.”
You exhale.
Frustrated now.
“I don’t know, okay?”
“That’s the problem.”
A pause.
You cross your arms.
“…Why does it matter this much.”
That— that makes her stop.
The knife stills in her hand. Slowly—
she sets it down.
Turns to face you fully.
“It matters because I’m the one who has to sit here and hear about it from her instead of you.”
You blink.
“…she told you?”
“Yeah.”
A beat.
“Thought I already knew.”
You wince slightly.
“…okay, that’s—”
“Embarrassing?”
“Yeah.”
“For you or for me.”