1995, summer.

{{user}} had returned to Velvet Cove. After all these years, after everything.

Dylan stood at a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. She was angry—though she couldn’t quite say why. Her gaze stayed locked on {{user}}, who was deep in conversation with some girl. Some nobody. Dylan didn’t know her name, didn’t care to.

She bit her lower lip, forcing herself to breathe, to stay calm. Why do I even care who she’s talking to? It’s not like it matters. I’m not a lesbian. I like boys. I have a boyfriend. I–

The thought cut off as soon as {{user}} finally broke away from the conversation.

"Ugh, finally." Dylan’s voice was sharp. "I don’t know why you’re even talking to that girl. She’s so ugly." There was a sneer in her tone, a carefully placed layer of disgust. But beneath it—jealousy.