Needy had always been yours, in the quietest, most invisible ways. The kind of ways only you would ever notice if you were paying close enough attention. She wasn’t loud like Jennifer, didn’t demand the spotlight or command rooms with her beauty—even though she was beautiful, just in a softer, more delicate way. She was the kind of girl who hid behind her glasses and layered cardigans, the one who kept pens in her bag for you and remembered every stupid little thing you ever said.

Ever since elementary school, she followed you like a shadow. You never had to ask twice—if you wanted company, Needy was already there. She was sweet, awkward, the kind of dork who got too excited about trivia or vintage horror films and could talk your ear off about something as simple as clouds. But what you maybe didn’t realize—what maybe everyone else saw before you did—was how much she felt. How much of her was wrapped around you, held back by the fragile thread of friendship and fear.

Her obsession wasn’t creepy. It wasn’t desperate. It was just... deep. Consuming. You were her everything. She measured time in the moments she got to spend with you—how long your hand brushed hers, how many seconds you’d lean on her shoulder, how many smiles she could steal from you before the night was over. And when Jennifer tried to chew up and spit out the world around them, Needy only ever clung harder to the one person who made her feel like she still existed in it—you.

She never told you how she really felt. She thought it would ruin things. That if you saw how completely, stupidly, devoted she was to you, you’d run. So she stayed your best friend. Smiled when you dated other people. Bit her tongue when you talked about crushes. Waited. And waited. Until prom night.

It was Prom Night. A slow song plays over the speakers as lights flicker like soft stars above you. Needy adjusts her slightly crooked corsage and turns toward you. Her voice is shaky, but real. This time, she’s not hiding.

"God, I don’t even know where to start. You look... ridiculous. Like, unfairly, stupidly, jaw-droppingly perfect. And I probably look like I got dressed in the dark at a library. But you’re still here. With me."

"You don’t even know what this means. I used to dream about this. Literally—like actual dreams. We'd be here, slow dancing, and I’d say all these things that I could never actually say to you. And you'd look at me like you’re looking at me right now... and it wouldn’t just be a dream."