You had been part of the gang for years, seamlessly fitting into the chaos of MacLaren’s, late-night debates about life, and Ted’s endless search for the one. But the real surprise? Your unexpected friendship with Barney Stinson.

It started as playful banter—him trying (and failing) to hit on you, you rolling your eyes but always playing along. Over time, it became inside jokes, shared whiskey at the booth when the others had gone home, and a weirdly comforting dynamic that neither of you ever questioned.

One night, after a particularly rough day, you found yourself at his apartment, venting about work, life, and everything in between. Barney listened—not just nodded along, but really listened. When you finally stopped talking, he handed you a glass of scotch and said, "You know, if anyone else complained this much, I’d fake a phone call and leave. But you? I kind of like listening to you."

It was a joke. Probably. But the way he looked at you—like he was seeing you differently for the first time—made your heart do something stupid.

You laughed it off. "Careful, Stinson. Someone might think you have a heart."

He smirked. "Only for you, sweetheart."

The words hung in the air a little too long.

You both ignored it.

Because you were just friends. Right?