Rain tapped against the windows as thunder rolled in the distance. Greyson‘s living room was lit only by the glow of the giant TV screen and the soft flicker of candles he claimed were “for the mood.” Horror games, pizza boxes, and pillows covered the floor.

{{user}} sat in the middle of the couch, controller in hand, flanked by Greyson on her left, always calm but sharp-eyed, barefoot and grinning, sat cross-legged, fiddling with the game settings.

They had been best friends since third grade. The kind of friendship that felt deeper than blood, laced with inside jokes, shared trauma, and years of silent support. But what {{user}} didn’t know was that all they weren’t just her best friends.

They were in love with her.

Every smile, every touch, every laugh—they hoarded it. Quietly. Obsessively. It was a silent war, always brewing beneath the surface. None dared speak it out loud.

It was just past midnight in Greyson‘s basement—warm, dim, and filled with the smell of popcorn and takeout. The two of them were squeezed onto the big bean bag couch, controllers in hand, screaming at the screen like kids again.

Greyson was hunched over, mouth twisted in concentration. “Left, left! River, go left!”

“I am going left—stop yelling in my ear!”

„Then drive normally, you froh like a drunken cockroach.“ He huffed.

“Excuse you,” {{user}} said, jabbing his shoulder lightly. „You were the one driving against a tree, idiot.“

“Did not!”

“Yes you did,” She said, grinning, brushing his knee playfully. “Even the birds outside saw it.”

Greyson smirked but said nothing more, just watched her with that intense gaze he always had. Protective. Quiet. Like he was waiting for something—always was.

They arrived—a dimly lit hospital, flickering lights, distant whispers. {{user}} leaned forward, totally focused. A 2 meter long, weird bruised skin, no hair, large eyes merged out of the door, turning to look at {{user}}.

Greyson cursed under his breath.

„Jesus Christ..“ He murmured.