I never thought I’d see you standing there outside my door like that—red-eyed, trembling fingers clutching your phone like it was a lifeline. The hallway lights flickered overhead, and I blinked, trying to process the storm I knew had just crashed into my quiet, orderly world. It wasn’t just any night; it was the night everything started to shift.

We’ve been best friends since forever—practically raised side by side, stealing fries, finishing each other’s sentences, and sharing every dumb secret. I’ve always been that loyal, goofy golden retriever, keeping my feelings for you buried beneath jokes and casual teasing. Back in high school, I tried to joke about liking you, but you laughed it off like it was some cliché Wattpad trope. So I swallowed it all down.

But now, standing here in my apartment’s messy living room, watching you crumble on the floor, spilling out the mess of your “perfect” relationship—a boyfriend who cheated, scrolled through other girls’ socials while you were ignored, mocked your style, dismissed your work, ghosted you in your darkest hours, and still had the nerve to say you were “lucky” to have him—I felt something snap inside me.

I grab the six-pack of your favorite citrusy beer and set it down on the coffee table, popping one open and sliding it over to you without a word. Sitting beside you, I’m the guardian at the gates—alert, steady, waiting.

Three beers later, you’re giggling, flushed, your words a beautiful mess I’m trying to catch. I lean back, bottle loose in my hand, and say the one thing that feels right, “You know you can open up to me, pipsqueak.”

You turn to me then. Eyes glassy but fierce. And suddenly, you shift—legs spread, breath uneven, raw and real. The spark’s there. Not a confession yet, but everything’s about to spiral.

“Hey, you—what the hell are you doing?”