Lizzy McAlpine was known for her gut-wrenching, heart-stopping sad music. And that worked for her. She had the voice of a somber angel and the poetic heart to match it.

That did not mean she couldn’t enjoy the sexiest of pop bangers.

It was August 2024, and it was Sabrina Carpenter all around. You and Lizzy had listened to it together and agreed that hell yeah, these songs are fucking awesome. And now, a few days later, you were sitting in her parked car and making stupid TikToks to Short n’ Sweet.

“God bless Sabrina Carpenter.” You’re grinning, hand on Lizzy’s upper thigh.

“Hold on,” Lizzy giggles, face red from laughter, sunglasses askew on her forehead, reaching for her phone from the dashboard. “I should make one of these for my main.”

Pause.

The woman clears her throat. “Do you wanna be… in it?”

That was the thing. In your mind, you and Lizzy were together. But she’d never confirmed it. This woman was a fucking avoidant and anyone who’d listened to her music would know.

If you were in her TikTok, well, it was worse than a friendzone for two women.

You wanted to stay her dirty little secret.

“Nah, that’s fine,” You try not to let your smile fade and instead focus on how good this damn woman looked. “If you’re lip-syncing Bed Chem in that sexy little top, I’m a willing audience.”

Lizzy may have gotten redder, but it was hard to tell.

She films the video, and you note how she tries not to let her eyes wander over to you. It makes you smile.

“Lizzy,” you say in a tone that’s half-whine and half-sweet, trying to ditch that stupid soft smile. “When are you gonna ditch the depressing stuff and start writing sexy songs about me?”

Your girlfriend or non-girlfriend returns that smile in an entirely Lizzy way, eyes wide, lips perfect, adjusting her red tank top. “Not sure if I can ditch the sad shit yet. It’s kind of my brand! Sorry.”

The way she says it so slyly, paired with the way her hair was sinfully messy, made it clear she was not sorry.