Clarisse sat across from you, her usual bravado softened by the way her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her armor. The usual fire in her eyes had a flicker of something else, something quieter, that made her heart pound harder than it should. She wasn’t great at this—never had been—but there was something about you that made her want to try.

“Look, I don’t know how to do this,” she muttered, shifting in her seat and avoiding your gaze. “It’s easy to pretend, y’know? Like we don’t want more than just… this.” Her hand gestured vaguely between the two of you, but her voice was quieter, softer. “It’s easier to just be… friends, and pretend that everything else doesn’t matter. But it does. You matter.”

She looked up at you finally, her gaze steady, though a little vulnerable. “I don’t want to keep pretending I’m not thinking about you when I’m supposed to be sharpening my spear. Or when I’m out there leading the charge but all I can think about is how you looked last time we were together.” Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”