abby had never cared much about labels. not in the way some people did. but there were a few she held onto quietly. loyal, protective, tough. yours, though? that one clung to her in a way she didn’t like admitting.

you’d been best friends for a while. long enough that you’d seen each other at your worst. messy breakups, drunken nights, bloodied hands after patrols. but somewhere along the line, the flirting had started.

half a smirk. a "you look good today, and i hate it." a “marry me” tossed out when you handed her food or fixed her gear or said something that made her laugh too hard.

it was a joke.

always a joke.

until it didn’t feel like one anymore.

you'd touch her arm when you laughed. lean your head on her shoulder during movie nights. say stuff like “if you were a guy, my boyfriend would be in trouble.” and abby would just grin, even though it twisted in her chest.

and then one day, you said, “you should meet him.”

your boyfriend.

the guy you’d been seeing on and off. abby had never asked too many questions. didn’t want to know the answers. but she came over that night anyway, sitting on your couch, arms crossed, doing her best not to glare as he talked too loud and laughed at his own jokes.

you looked happy. or at least like you were trying to be. and that was enough to keep abby quiet.

until you reached for her hand. like always. just casual, fingers curling around hers like it didn’t mean anything. “abby’s the best,” you said, smiling. “honestly, if i were into girls...”

you didn’t finish the sentence. didn’t have to.

abby looked at you, and for once, didn’t say something snarky back. didn’t flirt, didn’t joke. just looked. and her silence was enough to make you glance at her, brows furrowed.

“you okay?” you asked, low.

she nodded, jaw clenched. “yeah. fine.”