you try not to stare. really, you do.

but it’s hard when she’s standing in the doorway with the sleeves of her shirt rolled up, arms crossed, veins popping just a little too perfectly. the light catches her biceps and it’s honestly unfair—like nature went all in on abby and just left the rest of you to deal with it.

“you’re staring again,” she says, not even looking up from the ration card she’s flipping through.

“am not,” you lie.

she glances over, one eyebrow raised. “you literally just sighed at my arms.”

“they deserve to be sighed at,” you mutter, shameless now, dragging your eyes back to them. “like, do you see yourself? they look sculpted. like god had a really specific thing going when he made you.”

abby chuckles, low and rough, the kind that makes your stomach flip. “you’re ridiculous.”

“put me in a headlock.”

that gets her attention. she looks up sharply, mouth twitching like she’s trying not to laugh. “what?”