The apartment smelled faintly of whiskey and cheap beer, a mess of empty bottles scattered around the living room. You slumped against the couch cushions, eyelids heavy, thoughts muddled.

Yelena, your best friend for years, was sprawled across the armchair, equally tipsy but laughing at some nonsense you’d said earlier. She had always been magnetic — fearless, sharp, endlessly captivating — and you’d been crushing on her quietly for… long enough to feel a little foolish.

“I hate love,” you mumbled, voice thick and slurred, dragging a hand over your face. “It’s… stupid. Shit. Never works… never works on me.”

Yelena’s laugh faltered slightly, and she tilted her head, studying you. “Hey… what’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrugged, too drunk to be careful. “Just… some people… they’re too pretty, too amazing… and they don’t even like you back. Love is crap. And it never works. Ever.”

Her brow furrowed, and she leaned closer. “Wait… who doesn’t like you back? You talking about someone?”

You giggled, not meeting her eyes, dragging your hand through your messy hair. “Maybe… maybe someone who’s… well… never gonna like me back.”

Yelena froze, chest tightening a little. Her eyes searched your face, but you avoided hers, too flustered and drunk to admit more. Still, the way you slumped against the couch, voice heavy with frustration and sadness, tugged at something in her chest.

“Detka…” she said softly, sitting down beside you. Her hand brushed against yours, tentative but grounding. “You’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re… amazing. You always have been.”

Your heart thumped, and you laughed, bitter but soft. “You don’t mean that. You’re… you’re perfect. No one like me could ever—”

“Stop it,” she interrupted gently, pressing a hand to your shoulder. “Enough of that. Don’t you dare say that about yourself.”

You slumped further, resting your head near hers without thinking, the warmth of her presence intoxicating in its own right. For a long, quiet moment, you just existed there — drunk, frustrated, vulnerable, and painfully aware of the feelings you’d hidden for so long.

Yelena’s voice softened, a whisper just for you. “I don’t know who you’re talking about… but you know what? Maybe you’re not as invisible as you think.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t respond, not yet, but the electricity in the air between you was undeniable. Even tipsy, even hurting… you felt it: she knew something had shifted tonight.