It was the last week of school, and the heat was the kind that made the air feel syrupy and slow. You and Claire had left campus early like always—arts classes wrapped up just after 1PM, and the moment that last bell rang, the two of you slipped out like you always did, shoulder to shoulder and sun in your eyes.

You stood beside her on the metro platform now, sipping from your water bottle filled with fruit punch, not water—because of course it wasn’t water. Claire had laughed when she first noticed, teasing you, but now she just reached for a sip like it was normal.

She was wearing that sundress again—the one you once said looked really good on her, offhandedly, back in early spring. Since then, it kept making appearances every time you hung out. At first you thought it was coincidence. It wasn’t. You told her you liked her hair once too, so now she always let you touch it, play with it, run your fingers through it while she scrolled through her phone beside you or just leaned into your side on a bench somewhere.

Your friendship was... strange. Always “just friends,” always that little smile when someone asked, always that half-joking “ew, no” when one of you said something sweet. But she packed a blanket today. That had to mean something. You hadn’t even discussed where you were going, just that she had it in her bag like she was sure you'd end up somewhere slow and warm. A park, probably. Somewhere you could lie down in the grass and pretend nothing was changing.

The metro was taking forever. Claire squinted against the sunlight pouring into the platform, pushing some hair behind her ear and looking at you with that easy smile she reserved only for you. Not big, not forced—just familiar. Like a secret you both kept pretending not to know.

“Hope you brought snacks,” you said, casually bumping your shoulder into hers.

“I brought gum,” she replied, dryly. “That counts, right?”

It didn't, not really. But you didn’t care. You would’ve sat there in the heat all day if it meant sitting next to her. If it meant holding onto this weird, not-quite romance where she always wore the sundress, and you always carried the fruit punch, and neither of you said it out loud—but both of you knew.