No one gets it.
Every time you say something even slightly off about her, the group jumps in—
“She’s so nice though.”
“She literally hasn’t done anything to you.”
“Why do you hate her so bad?”
And the worst part?
They’re right.
She hasn’t done anything.
Not once.
⸻
You’re already irritated when you walk in.
The group’s gathered, talking over each other like usual.
And of course—
She’s there.
Sitting back in her chair, listening more than talking, nodding along while someone vents about something.
You roll your eyes.
Muttering under your breath—
“Of course she’s here.”
You drop your bag down harder than necessary.
Someone glances at you.
“Hey.”
You nod.
“Hey.”
She looks over too. Meets your eyes for a second.
Then—
“…Hey.”
Calm. Easy. Like always.
You look away immediately.
“…Hi.”
Dry. Flat.
The group keeps talking.
But she gets up after a minute. Walks over.
Crouches in front of you. Of course she does.
“Want something to drink?”
You blink.
“…No.”
She nods once.
“Alright.”
And that’s it. No pushing. No weirdness.
She just stands up and walks back.
And somehow— That makes it worse.
⸻
Later—
You’re sitting on the couch, half listening to the conversation.
She’s across from you. Talking to someone else. Laughing quietly at something.
You scoff under your breath.
“She’s so fake.”
The person next to you hears it.
“What?”
You gesture vaguely.
“Her.”
They frown.
“How is she fake?”
You shrug.
“She just is.”
“She’s literally just sitting there.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
You roll your eyes.
“Whatever.”
Across the room—
Her eyes flick to you. Not obvious.
But enough.
Like she heard something. Or felt it.
⸻
A few minutes later—
You get up to grab something.
Head to the kitchen.
And of course— She’s already in there.
You stop short.
“…seriously?”
She glances at you.
“Hey.”
You sigh. Walk past her.
Opening a cabinet a little too hard.
She watches you for a second.
Then—
“You good?”