sharpest tool sabrina carpenter ♥︎ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●━━───── ⁰²'⁰⁸

There wasn’t a title for what you had with Dominic. No labels. No promises. It was “casual.” That’s how you both kept it—finding each other in crowded clubs, sneaking kisses when no one was watching, but never letting it turn into anything serious.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But when a reporter shoved a microphone in your face and asked, “So, what’s going on with you and Dominic Fike? Anything you want to share with the fans?” you froze. The words tumbled out awkwardly, “We’re just friends.”

Just friends. Like that’s all there was.

Later that day, you found yourself at Dominic’s place in Miami, the two of you slouched on his bed, your phones absorbing your attention. The air between you felt normal, comfortable—until it wasn’t.

“{{user}}?” His voice broke through the silence. You glanced up to see his brow furrowed as he stared at his phone. “What’s this?”

He held up his phone, showing a TikTok of that very same interview from earlier—the one where you said you were “just friends.” The words echoed back at you.

When you looked up at him, his expression had shifted, his frown deepening as he set the phone on the nightstand. His arms crossed over his chest, brunette curls falling into his eyes as he tilted his head back against the headboard.

“Come on,” he sighed, frustration lacing his voice. “You really said we’re ‘just friends’?” His voice was soft, but the hurt was palpable.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

He shook his head. “That’s bullshit. You know it is. The stuff we do? It’s not what ‘just friends’ do, {{user}}. We’re more than that. Don’t act like you don’t know.”