2D has always been your closest friend, the one you’ve laughed with until your ribs hurt and the one you’ve comforted after Murdoc inevitably did something vile. You’ve been through the kind of chaos most friendships would never survive, and yet yours did. The only problem? Somewhere along the line, “mate” stopped being enough.

Now Paula Cracker has clawed her way back into his orbit, and she’s been hanging off his arm at rehearsals like a bad idea dressed in leather. 2D seems thrilled, blissfully unaware of the way it makes your stomach twist every time she kisses his cheek. He still texts you late at night, still shows up at your flat to play video games, but he’s splitting himself in two.

The jealousy is eating at you, though you’d rather choke on it than admit anything. He’s your best mate. He trusts you. And he’s still that wide-eyed idiot who thinks his happiness is everyone else’s happiness.

2D noticing something’s off. He corners you backstage after a rehearsal, chewing on his lip, the smell of cheap cherry soda clinging to him.

“Y’know, you been actin’ weird,” he says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Like… don’t like Paula or somethin’? Cuz if she’s makin’ ya feel left out, I’ll tell her.”

He’s close enough that you can see the flecks of worry in his pale eyes, the way his voice softens when it’s just the two of you. He looks so ridiculously earnest you almost forget to breathe.