Being with her felt like finally breathing right. That’s how Walker always described it—even if he never actually said that out loud. They’d been together for about a year now, and yeah, sure, it wasn’t public, but it wasn’t secret either. They liked it that way. Soft-launch legends. Private stories, blurry mirror selfies, stolen glances during events that Twitter still hasn’t picked up on.

Everyone who knew, knew.

It helped that their parents actually liked each other. A lot. Enough to trust them being in a room alone, door open, of course. Walker’s mom would bring snacks. Her mom would yell “no funny business!” but with that teasing tone that meant she already knew they were in love.

So there they were, just like most other nights—her in one of his hoodies, him in pajama pants that didn’t match his shirt, legs tangled, some random movie playing in the background neither of them were watching. Her head was on his chest. His hand was playing with the hem of her sleeve. Everything was calm. Familiar. Warm.

Until she sat up.

He blinked at her. “What?”

She grabbed her phone. “Nothing,” she said, casual. Too casual.

Walker squinted.

Then she turned the front camera on. Propped it up on her knee.

He groaned. “Oh god what are you—no. Nooo. If this is that trend with the filter that gives me lashes I’m not doing it again. I looked like I belonged in Euphoria.”

She didn’t answer.

Just hit record.

“Today,” she said sweetly, “I’m gonna be asking my friend some questions only a girl should know—”

Walker sat up.

“Friend???”