You were lying on the floor of Victoria’s apartment, back against the rug, staring at the ceiling while music played softly from her phone. She sat on the couch above you, bass resting against her thigh, absent-mindedly plucking strings that didn’t belong to any real song. Just noise. Just feeling.

“You’ve been weird all evening,” she said finally, glancing down at you.

You laughed softly. “You say that like it’s new.”

“No,” Victoria replied, setting the bass aside and leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Different weird.”

You turned your head to look at her. The room was dim, lit mostly by the city glow coming through the windows. She looked softer like this — hair loose, makeup gone, guard lowered in a way she rarely allowed anyone to see.

“I hate this part,” you admitted quietly.

“What part?”

“The pretending.” You swallowed. “The acting like I’m okay with how things are.”

Victoria’s expression shifted, something serious flickering behind her eyes. “And how are things, exactly?”

You sat up, heart beating a little too fast now. “You’re my friend,” you said. “Always around. Always close.” You laughed under your breath, but it wasn’t amused. “And it’s hard for me.”

She didn’t interrupt you.

“I don’t wanna be your friend,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, the words finally breaking free. “I wanna kiss your lips.”

Victoria stood slowly, closing the distance until she was right in front of you. She tilted your chin up gently, thumb warm against your skin. “I was starting to think you’d never say it,” she murmured.

Your breath caught. “You knew?”

She smiled — small, honest, a little nervous. “Yeah. I just needed to know you felt it too.”