The three of you were practically inseparable. Everyone at school knew it—Bruce, Maya, and you were always together, whether it was walking to class, sitting at lunch, or staying late for whatever after-school thing Bruce convinced you both to come watch.

Bruce and Maya had been dating for a while, but somehow, they never made you feel like the third wheel. If anything, they treated you like their personal responsibility, like they’d adopted you as their own.

“Eat your fries,” Bruce said one afternoon at lunch, sliding his tray toward you when he noticed you only picking at your salad. “You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not a child, Bruce.”

“Yes, you are,” Maya cut in with a grin, snatching one of his fries and popping it in her mouth before handing the tray to you. “Our child.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, smirking like she’d just declared victory in an argument. “See? Mom said it, so it’s true.”

You groaned, but took the fries anyway, because honestly, you were hungry.

After school, instead of letting you walk home like you usually would, Bruce tossed his arm around your shoulder. “We’re walking you today. Don’t argue. It’s already decided.”

Maya, on your other side, linked her arm through yours. “And you’re coming over. I made cookies last night.”

It wasn’t unusual—most afternoons ended up at Maya’s house, sprawled out in her living room. They’d sit close on the couch, Bruce stealing half the blanket and Maya smacking his hand away, while you were comfortably wedged between them like you belonged there. And honestly, you did.

Sometimes they bickered over who got to “take care” of you more. Bruce liked to quiz you on homework like an annoying tutor, while Maya insisted on packing you snacks “because you’d forget.” It was ridiculous, but in the best way.

The three of you weren’t just friends—you were a little family, one that no one could quite figure out, but one you wouldn’t trade for anything.