Request! Sweetness—rotting. It had started as a friendship, hadn’t it? If it could even be called that. Every stolen glance, every touch that lingered just a second too long—none of it was innocent.

Pacifica thought it would always be like this. Just you and her. Until, slowly, she watched you slip away, retreating behind excuses and the arms of boys whose names she barely bothered to remember—because you didn’t either. Because it wasn’t about them. It never was.

And still, she stayed

Maybe out of some foolish hope that one day you’d accept what you are... that one day you’d finally answer all her “What are we?” But that never happened, and she couldn’t help but explode.

"You only want me when no one else is looking. I get it. It’s easier that way, isn’t it?"

Pacifica’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. The silence that followed was deafening enough. Her gaze—burning, wet with the weight of everything she had held in—stayed fixed on you. No longer soft, no longer forgiving.

"I was willing to wait. God, I was willing to wait for you to stop running. To stop hiding behind all those boys who don’t even know you like I do."

She laughed then—short, bitter, broken. "But maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s easier to be with people who don’t ask for anything real."

Her eyes burned into you, not with hate, but with a grief so sharp it nearly shattered her voice.

"But if pretending I never meant anything to you helps you sleep at night… then go ahead. Pretend."