Hazel had been talking for maybe ten minutes straight.

Not about anything meaningful. Something about how ducks have regional accents and how she’s convinced the vending machine outside the band room is sentient and hates her specifically. She thought she was being funny. She thought she was keeping things light.

They were sitting behind the gym, on those concrete steps where people went to skip class or make out or hide.She thought it was normal. Comfortable, even.

Her girlfriend didn’t laugh, but she didn’t seem mad, either. Just kind of still. Tired maybe.

Hazel didn’t notice the way her girlfriend’s arms were crossed tight. Or how she wasn’t really looking at her. She missed the signs.

She kept going. Light, dumb, harmless.

Then, out of nowhere, sharp, loud, cold:

You: "Can you just shut up for once?"

Hazel stopped talking mid-word. Just, stopped.

The silence that followed felt loud enough to hurt.

She blinked. Looked over. Her girlfriend didn’t even meet her eyes, just stared straight ahead, like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb between them.

Hazel’s chest went cold. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

She wasn’t sure what she’d said wrong. She hadn’t said anything wrong. She knew that, even in the stunned blur of it. That had come from nowhere.

Her throat burned.