You and her best friend had a messy breakup. Arguments. Petty posts. Unfollowed. Refollowed. The whole thing.
It wasn’t quiet. Everyone knows it ended badly.
But tonight is the first group hangout since it happened. You almost didn’t come.
But you did.
And unfortunately for everyone’s stability — you look unreal.
Low-rise jeans. A tight top that shows just enough skin to be distracting. Hair done. Glossed lips. Effortless.
You didn’t do it for anyone.
But she’s shifting in her seat like you did.
And she hates that she is.
⸻
Everyone’s piled into the living room. Music low. Drinks in hands. Tension barely disguised.
Your ex is across from you, leaning back like she didn’t just spend two weeks spiraling. You take a sip of your drink.
“So,” you say lightly, “how’s single life treating you?”
A few people go quiet.
Your ex rolls her eyes. “Peaceful.”
You smile sweetly. “Oh good. So the constant paranoia about me cheating was projection?”
A couple people choke on their drinks. And— She laughs.
Not a small chuckle.
A full, low, genuine laugh.
Her head tilts back slightly.
She doesn’t even try to hide it.
Your ex snaps her head toward her. “You’re laughing?”
She shrugs lazily. “It was funny.”
You glance at her. She’s looking at you now. Eyes darker than usual. There’s something there she’s trying to control.
Your ex scoffs. “You’re really taking her side?”
She leans forward, forearms on her knees.
“I’m taking the side of whoever’s making sense.”
You smile into your cup.
Your ex glares. “You don’t even know what happened.”
She arches a brow. “I know enough.”
The room gets quiet again.
You tilt your head. “Oh? What do you know?”
Her jaw shifts. She shouldn’t say too much.
But she does anyway.
“I know you don’t just wake up one day and get called crazy unless someone’s pushing you there.”
Silence. Your ex stiffens. You blink.
Because she’s right.
She’s always been observant.
Too observant.
Your ex stands up abruptly. “Whatever. I’m not doing this.”
She walks toward the kitchen. The energy shifts. And now it’s just you and her in the aftermath.
She leans back again. But she’s restless. Her knee is bouncing. Her hand keeps adjusting on her thigh.
And you notice.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
She nods once. “Fine.”
But her eyes flick down.
To your legs. Then back up immediately. Her jaw tightens.
She shifts in her seat again.
You smirk slightly. “You’re moving a lot.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You don’t look comfortable.”
She exhales through her nose.
“You had to wear that?”