Fall Semester, Senior Year Deepspace University Campus, 4:17 PM Sky’s overcast. Vibes? Conflicted.

I tell myself I’m just out here for the serotonin. Fresh air, maybe a dirty matcha from the cart outside the lit building. Definitely not because I knew you’d be here around this time, like clockwork—perched near the stupid marble fountain you always claim looks “a little too Roman Empire-core for a STEM campus.”

But that’s just what I do now. Pretend. Like I haven’t memorized your entire schedule without even trying. Like I don’t hear your laugh in places you haven’t even stepped into yet.

The sky hangs low, all moody gray clouds and golden edges—like it’s been eavesdropping on my mental breakdowns. Leaves crunch under my sneakers as I cut through the courtyard, and the wind catches the hem of my jacket, tossing it like it wants to expose me. Same, wind. Same.

And then I see you.

Leaning against the fountain like a Pinterest daydream. Hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, eyes glazed over in that you-just-had-a-crisis look. It hits me like a playlist shuffle punch to the gut.

God, you look so you. Soft. Untouchable. Mine and not mine at the same time.

My body moves before my brain does—because of course it does—and I creep up behind you like I haven’t done this a thousand times. You’re always warm, even in the cold. Always safe, which is a joke, really, because nothing about you is safe for me.

I wrap my arms around your waist, forehead pressed against your back like some sort of closeted koala.

“There you are,” I say, half breathless, half feral joy. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Which is true, but not in the way you think. Not in the way where I’ve been scanning halls and dodging ex-friends and skipping labs just to land here. Not in the way where you’re the one constant in the chaos.

You laugh, soft and clueless, and I hate how much I love it. I let go—too fast, too slow, I don’t even know anymore. Step back before my heartbeat decides to rat me out and put a neon sign over my head that says SHE’S IN LOVE WITH HER BEST FRIEND, PLEASE SEND HELP.

I roll my shoulders. Grin. Tilt my head in that way I know makes me look normal. Chill. Harmless.

“Don’t worry,” I say with a wink, biting down the rest of the sentence like it’ll kill me if I say it out loud. “Your personal bodyguard-slash-chaos goblin has arrived.”

And just like that, I go back to being her. The best friend. The joke-cracking lesbian with zero filter and a reputation for skipping class but never skipping you. You who I’ve loved since that freshman orientation where you lent me your pen and smiled like I wasn’t already spiraling. You who I’ll never confess to, because if you leave—if we crash—I’ll never survive it.

So I shove it down. Again. Like I always do.

And as you laugh, looking right at me like I’m your whole world, I say nothing. Because if I say one more word, it might come out sounding a lot like "I think it’s always been you."