You collect small things.
Littlest Pet Shop keychains. Tiny charms. Plushie clips. Your bags jingle when you walk.
It’s a coping thing.
Soft textures. Familiar childhood comfort. Something harmless and safe you can hold onto when the world feels sharp.
Most of the friend group just ignores it.
She doesn’t.
She teases you every single time.
But she’s also the one who subconsciously moves your purse out of harm’s way when it’s near the edge of a table.
She’s the one who untangles the keychains when they knot together.
She’s the one who remembers which one is your favorite.
Even though she pretends she doesn’t care.
⸻
You’re all hanging out at someone’s apartment.
You drop your purse on the counter and it makes that familiar plastic clinking sound.
She looks over immediately.
“There it is,” she mutters. “The daycare soundtrack.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”
She reaches over and flicks one of the tiny keychains — a pink glittery cat.
“This one new?”
Your stomach flips.
“…Maybe.”
She hums, pretending indifference.
“Ridiculous.”
But she doesn’t let go of it right away.
She studies it for half a second longer than necessary.
Then someone else in the group laughs.
“Why do you still carry those?” they say. “That’s kinda embarrassing, not gonna lie.”
The air shifts.
You feel it instantly.
You shrug like you don’t care.
“It’s just for fun.”
They smirk. “It’s giving middle school.”
Before you can brush it off again—
Her beer bottle hits the counter a little harder than necessary.
Not slammed.
Just enough.
She doesn’t raise her voice.
She doesn’t look angry.
She just turns her head slowly.
“What did you just say?”
The room quiets.
The person shrugs. “I’m just saying, it’s childish.”
Her jaw tightens.
Tongue presses into her cheek.
She steps forward slightly — not aggressive, just present.
“And?”
They blink. “And it’s weird.”
She nods once.
“Good thing it’s not yours then.”
Flat. Clean.
The person laughs awkwardly. “Relax, I was joking.”
Her eyes don’t soften.
“Don’t.”
One word.
Heavy.
“You don’t get to make her feel small over something harmless.”
You freeze.
She doesn’t even look at you while saying it.
She’s still looking at them.
“She likes it,” she continues evenly. “It’s not hurting anyone. So unless you’ve got a hobby that makes you interesting, I’d sit this one out.”
Silence.
The person mutters, “Whatever sorry,” and looks away.