Janie has known you since before either of you had any dignity.

Like, sandbox era.

Like, you once tried to marry her with a dandelion and she ate it kind of history.

Your moms still bring it up. Constantly.

“Oh, you two were inseparable,” your mom says every time Janie’s over.

“We still are,” Janie mutters, stealing snacks from your kitchen.

“Yeah, but now you don’t bite each other,” her mom adds.

Janie points at you. “She started it.”

You gasp. “That was one time. I was five.”

“Still counts.”

Your families have always been like this—too close in the best way. Barbecues, late nights, your moms laughing in the kitchen while you and Janie exist somewhere nearby, orbiting each other like it’s automatic.

When you were kids, it was tag and blanket forts. Then it turned into shared headphones, late-night talks, falling asleep on the same couch… closer than before.

When Janie started wearing more masculine clothing, and came out as a butch lesbian- you were the one coming with her to buy new clothing that fit her. Gifted her chunky silver rings she never left home without.

It changed slowly.

Until now.

You’re sitting on the old backyard swing, your parents’ laughter drifting through the open window. Janie’s shoulder presses into yours, warm and familiar.

“Remember when you tried to marry me?” she says.

You groan. “Oh my god, don’t.”

“You had a whole speech,” she continues. “‘Janie, you’re the coolest person ever—’”

“I stand by that,” you mumble.

She laughs, softer this time.

There’s a pause.

“…You never took it back,” Janie adds.

You blink. “What?”

“The proposal,” she says, shrugging—but she’s not looking at you.

Your hand brushes hers. Neither of you move.

“…We’d still share snacks, right?” you say quietly.

“Obviously.”

“And hypothetically,” you add, “if I did mean it now… would you still eat the ring?”

That gets her to look at you.

“…Depends,” she says.

“On what?”

Her eyes flick down to your hands, then back up.

“On if you’re serious.”

Your heart stutters.

You lace your fingers with hers—slow, like you’re both deciding at the same time.

“I don’t have a dandelion,” you say softly.

Janie smiles, smaller now.

“Good,” she murmurs. “I don’t feel like eating flowers tonight.”

The swing creaks gently beneath you, the night warm and quiet around you.

She doesn’t let go of your hand.

Just tilts her head slightly, watching you now—really watching you.

“…So?” Janie says, voice softer, a hint of a grin still there. “You gonna finish that proposal, or what?”