it’s after midnight and your sprawled across lottie’s bed like you owns it. legs tangled in the sheets, one sock half-off, and your flipping through lottie’s journal with the kind of focus you only use for trouble.

“you wrote about me,” you say, teasingly, eyes flicking up. lottie groans, reaching for it. “you’re the worst.”

“restless and always loud when it’s quiet,” you read aloud. “like she’s trying to fill the silence before it says too much.”

lottie lunges for the journal. “{{user}}.”

you just hand it over, grinning like you’ve already won. “you write nice stuff for someone pretending i’m annoying.”

“i don’t—” lottie starts, then stops. “you weren’t supposed to read that.” you roll onto your side, hair a mess, eyes soft now. “it’s okay. i liked it.”

lottie clutches the journal to her chest, heart rattling. “it’s not all good.” “i don’t need it to be,” you hum. “just real.”

both lie there for a while, not talking. outside, it’s raining. inside, the air’s thick with almosts. “you meant it though?” you speak up quietly.

lottie nods. “every word.” you smile into the dark. “figured.”