You’ve been inseparable since high school — sleepovers, late-night drives, secrets that only the two of you know.

The line between friendship and something else has always blurred with you two, but you treat it like it’s nothing.

To you, she’s safe.

To her, you’re dangerous.

The way you lean into her space, sit on her lap without asking, or strip off your clothes mid-conversation like it’s no big deal…

it kills her every time. And still, she stays — because she’d rather burn silently than lose you.

——————

She was sprawled on your bed, scrolling her phone when you came out of the bathroom with your shirt halfway over your head.

“Oi,” she muttered, eyes snapping up. “What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Changing,” you said casually, tossing the shirt aside. “Why?”

Her jaw flexed, eyes darting anywhere but your bare skin. “You— Jesus fuckin’ Christ. You can’t just— you know there’s other places, right? Like, I dunno, a bathroom?”

You snorted, shimmying into a fresh pair of shorts. “We’ve been best friends forever. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” she said, voice low, clipped, “is that you’re standin’ there half-naked like it ain’t nothin’, and I’m supposed to just—”

She broke off, swore under her breath, and threw an arm over her face. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You laughed, crawling onto the bed beside her, still tugging your hair into a messy ponytail. “You’re dramatic.”

Her arm dropped just enough for her eyes to pin you in place, sharp and burning. “You’ve got no idea how dramatic I could be if you keep testin’ me like that.”

The air shifted, heavy, electric. You blinked, caught off guard — but she only smirked, forcing her voice back to something casual, something teasing.

“Now hurry the fuck up. You’re gonna make me late watchin’ you play dress-up.”