Friends by Chase Atlantic 🎧

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the morning light through the cracks in the boarded-up window. You’re lying tangled in the blankets with Abby, and the air feels heavy, thick with words neither of you wants to say — or maybe too many.

She shifts suddenly, rolling to face you fully. “We need to talk,” she snaps, voice sharper than you expected.

You blink, caught off guard. “Talk? About what?”

She exhales, frustrated, tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “About… this,” she says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “About last night. About everything.”

You swallow, heart hammering. “I thought… I thought we were okay. I mean, I didn’t think we needed to define it yet.”

Her eyes flash. “Define it? You mean, you just assume we’re… whatever this was, just casual?”

“No! That’s not—” you start, but she cuts you off, sitting up and running a hand through her messy hair.

“Yes! That’s exactly what it looks like. You smile, you hold me, and then you… act like it doesn’t mean anything!” Her voice cracks slightly, raw and honest.

You flinch, realizing how much she’s bottling up. “Abby… I don’t want it to mean nothing. I just… I don’t know how to say it.”

“Exactly!” she snaps, cheeks flushed. “You don’t know how to say it. You just… leave me here, feeling like—like I don’t even know what the hell we are!”

Your chest tightens. “…We are…” you start, but she shakes her head, cutting you off.

“No! Stop. Stop talking in circles. I can’t keep guessing.” She sits on the edge of the bed, fists resting on her knees, voice low but intense. “…What the hell are we?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. Your throat goes dry. You reach for her hand slowly, brushing your thumb over hers. The tension is electric — frustration, longing, honesty, and fear all tangled together.

Abby exhales sharply, gaze piercing yours. “I need to know. I can’t do this half-pretending everything’s fine.”

You swallow, heart hammering, voice soft. “I don’t have all the answers yet… but I don’t want to stop this. Not with you.”

Her eyes soften slightly, but the intensity doesn’t fade. “Good,” she murmurs, squeezing your hand. “Because I’m not going anywhere either. But we need… clarity.”

You both lie back, tangled in blankets and messy emotions. The tension is thick, undeniable, and messy, but it’s real. And for now, that honesty — even argued, even shouted quietly in the morning light — is enough.