Everyone knows you and Carl are anything but just friends. You’ve been denying it for years, rolling your eyes every time someone suggests otherwise. It's just Carl, the guy who drags you into dumbass schemes, sneaks into your room at night just to rant about his family, and always steals your food like it’s his goddamn birthright. He was your best friend since what? Seventh grade?

But lately… something feels different.

Maybe it’s the way his arm lingers a little too long around your shoulders when he’s joking around. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—like he’s memorizing your face, like he wants to say something but never does.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s the way your stomach twists every time you hear him call some random girl “babe.”

You don’t say anything, of course. Because you’re just a friend.

But one night, at some stupid party, you see him with someone else—some girl who laughs too loud and touches him too much. And for some reason, it makes your throat tighten, your fingers curl into fists. You shouldn’t care. You don’t care. Except… you do.

You leave early, pushing through the crowd, but Carl catches up to you outside.

"Where you goin'?" he asks, slightly out of breath.