Space Cadet

My name’s mama peach, or peach, or Astro, or anything you’d like to call me…I’m pretty flexible ;)

I was a former writer back in the day. I wrote many genres for many different fandoms.

I was on a long haitus due to hate and racism, but I’m slowly coming back. Mainly because my dearest toast and my other children were very supportive.

Some of you met me or know of me from my side blog: @bloodredpeach which I will still be active on.

My blog is open for all to interact, it will be age appropriate for all.

What I will not allow, obviously, is any form of hate, abuse, or indecency, to me or anyone else.

I mean, not to scare y’all, but I know things.

I promised my kids a fic each. After that, the floor is open for all to request. I’ll let you know when. If you do send something, just keep in mind it will take me some time to finish it.

I will write anything except for smut and extreme gore. For now, I'm only writing for Katseye, all members except for Yoonchae.

You can send an ask or submit a post!

Introducing my fam...

My kids: @burnttoast7272 , @meganswhxre @manonz-manz @danielasleftpinkytoe0471 @ihighkeylovewomen @i97w00 and 🕷️anon

My kids in law: @jjtheroyal2 , @skiendielific

My grandbaby: @dreamytigerlotus

Taglist:

@skiendielific , @burnttoast7272

I wake up to the incessant vibration of my phone somewhere under me.

It takes me a minute to grab my bearings, my limbs feeling heavy as lead as I slowly push myself up. I sit up and blink, my throat feeling dry as sandpaper, a low throb pounding behind my temples. I look around, expecting the room to be dark, only to find harsh, brilliant light seeping through the gaps of my heavy curtains. Wow, how long was I out?

I reach up to pull the curtains open, and my room is instantly bathed in the warm, golden, late-morning light.

I fish the device out of my rumpled sheets, squinting hard at the glowing screen. The clock reads 10:24 AM. I run a hand down my face in sheer disbelief. I slept for seventeen hours straight.

Shit, I was supposed to call Lara.

Just then, the phone vibrates again in my hands, the screen changing to incoming call. I can't help but stare at the contact photo, a candid of Lara and me taken in one of those cramped photobooths on the day I asked her to be my girl. She's sitting in my lap, her soft hand cupping my cheek, her eyes looking down at me with absolute adoration, and her perfect, plump lips curved into a teasing smile. I, on the other hand, was a red-faced, frozen mess. My cheeks were burning an alarming shade of pink, waiting to be ultimately rejected by the goddess I was holding in my arms. Her exact words right before that camera clicked were, 'took you long enough.'

I snap out of the memory, my heart doing a little nervous skip, and slide the answer button, valuing my life over a picture.

I open my mouth, and a very raspy, almost unintelligible "'Ello?" comes out. I clear my throat to try again, attempting to find my actual voice as I stand up and head toward the kitchen to grab a desperately needed glass of water.

"Y/N?? Where have you been?" A very sexy voice scolds me through the speaker.

"Hi, love," I croak, leaning against the kitchen counter as I fill a glass from the tap. "I'm okay. I crashed after I got home yesterday. Been asleep since."

"Since five pm? Goddamn, baby. How tired were you?" Her tone immediately softens, the furious bite replaced by that familiar, protective warmth that always makes my chest feel tight.

"Very. I didn't feel a thing. Just straight up passed out." I take a long, slow gulp of the cold water, feeling it slowly bring my brain back online.

"Yeah, I can tell. Anyway, can you open your door?"

Taglist:

@skiendielific , @toastiegotburnt7272 , @feralbamboozle , @meganswhxre , @manonz-manz , @danielasleftpinkytoe0471 @ihighkeylovewomen , @dreamytigerlotus , @jjtheroyal2 , @babyhumanoidpsychicnerd , @avanzinimoon , @crypticvalentine , @themuffinman18

After all this time, I thought love would be easier. I was wrong…again.

Love, as I've come to learn, is not a punch or a whisper or a decision. It's a treachery. It creeps up on you, consumes you from the inside out. Then, when it's done with you, it eats up every moment between moments. And if you're not sturdy, your walls start cracking, enough that people can see right through them.

I was never this person. The one whose face is constantly glued to a screen, typing feverishly, jumping every time someone walks past, like I'm doing something illegal. But love - treachery, whatever you want to call it - has turned me into a clown.

A clown with a search history that would make my mama weep.

I have a new routine now. It's not glamorous. It's not the stuff of romance novels or the montages they play on TV. It's me, curled up on the corner of a couch, phone in hand, thumb moving like it's possessed, searching for answers to questions I'm too afraid to ask out loud.

How to confess to your best friend without making things weird.

Romantic date ideas.

How to plan a romantic date for your best friend who doesn't know you're in love with her.

How to tell someone you love them without scaring them away.

Cute ways to impress your crush.

How to tell if your crush finds you attractive.

It's early, way too early for a Tuesday morning. The sun is barely up, rays peeking through the curtains and illuminating the dark apartment. The light is pale and cold, casting long shadows across the floorboards—the exact kind of quiet, empty space I used to find comfort in before she took up all the room.

I'm standing in the kitchen, leaning against the granite counter, thumbing away at my phone, its screen glowing in the dim light. Megan is to my left, humming something under her breath. Lara is sitting at the kitchen table, trying to remember who she is. No one is paying attention to me.

Perfect.

I type faster.

Megan glances over. "You okay?"

"Peachy," I lie.

I open my notes app, scrolling through confession drafts I've written and deleted and rewritten, all of them starting with the same three words.

I love you.

Lara looks up from her early-morning existential crisis. "What are you doing at the ass-crack of dawn, girl?"

I look up, locking my phone with the speed of light and sheer embarrassment.

"…nothing?"

"Is that a question or an answer?"

"Nothing." I try again more firmly.

Megan giggles, clearly enjoying my misery. Lara takes a slow, deliberate sip of her water, never breaking eye contact. It's unsettling. She's learned that from me, probably. I've created a monster.

"Let me rephrase," Lara says, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "What were you doing that made you lock your phone like you're hiding state secrets?"

"Nothing," I say again, but my voice cracks on the 'o'.

Megan snorts.

I want to disappear into the floor. I would very much love it if the tiles opened up and swallowed me whole.

"Nothing," she repeats. "You're standing in the kitchen at six in the morning, staring at your phone like it just insulted your mother, and it's nothing."

"Correct."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm an excellent liar," I say, which is itself a lie.

Lara rubs her eyes. "It's too early for your lies. Just tell us what you're doing."

"Nothing!"

"You said that already."

"Because it's true!"

Megan leans over, trying to peek at my screen. I yank the phone away, pressing it against my stomach like it's a classified document.

"What are you hiding?" she asks, grinning.

"Nothing," I say for the fifth time. It's not getting more convincing.

Lara finally decides to spare me, seeing the look of desperation I gave her.

"Fine, fine. You know what you're doing, I guess."

I really, really don't…

Lara shuffles back to the table, grabbing her water like a lifeline. Megan hums again, returning to her own phone, but I catch her glancing at me every few seconds. They're not fooled. They're stalling.

I lean back against the counter, phone pressed to my chest, and stare at the ceiling.

You have to do this, I tell myself. You can't keep hiding.

But hiding is comfortable. Hiding is safe. Hiding means I don't have to watch Dani's face fall when she realizes her best friend has been in love with her this whole time.

Hiding also means he gets to win. Nope. Not today.

I unlock my phone. I need to do this.

The notes app is still open. I love you. Staring at me. Accusing me.

Megan clears her throat. "You know, if you're not going to tell us, you could at least stop sighing like a Victorian ghost. It's depressing."

"I'm not sighing."

"You are sighing," Lara agrees. "Very dramatically too."

I groan, sliding down the counter until I'm crouched on the floor, phone dangling from my fingers. "I'm going to die alone."

"You're not going to die alone," Megan says. "You have us."

"That's worse."

Megan gasps dramatically, yelling, "How dare you?!" as she heads to her bedroom to start getting ready for the day.

A few minutes of silence pass, then Lara says, “Hey.”

I don’t respond. Wrong move.

Lara throws a towel at my head. It lands on my face. I don't move to remove it.

"Okay, listen," Lara says, her voice shifting into something more serious. "You're scared. Fine. Anyone in your situation would be scared. But you've been pining for months, and frankly, it's getting painful to watch."

Ay fuck my life bro.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. So here's what's going to happen." She stands up and walks over, laying her wisdom on my towel face. "You're going to plan one nice thing. One. Not seventeen. Not a full operation. Just one simple, honest gesture."

"You think I haven't tried gestures?" I exclaim, grateful for the piece of cloth hiding my watery eyes, "I've tried! I've tried simple gestures. Crazy gestures. Romantic gestures. I brought her coffee and drove her around and left little lame notes and took her on dates and still nothing! She calls me sweet, then texts her boyfriend. She didn't even know they were dates!" I say bitterly. "It's hopeless. I'm hopeless. Maybe I should just give up and let her be. Maybe that's her way of rejecting me."

Silence. For a long moment, Lara doesn't say anything. Then she crouches down, pulls the towel off my face, and flicks my forehead.

"Ow!"

"Snap out of it," she says. "Did she actually tell you she has a boyfriend? Or did you see a name on her phone and invent an entire relationship in your head?"

I open my mouth. Close it.

"…That's what I thought." Lara sits back on her heels. "You're assuming. You've been assuming this whole time because you're scared."

"I'm not-"

"You are." Lara's voice is softer now.

"Lara…" I gulp, "I'm not as strong as you think I am. He's everywhere I try to be, and it's like…it's like I'm the one fighting tooth and nail for her and he just…" I shrug, pulling the towel back on my face.

"I swear if you keep talking nonsense, I will unthread your sweaters."

I didn't doubt her. Lara is a woman of her word, and my wardrobe is far too precious to risk over a bout of dramatic pining.

So, I shut up. I got off the floor. I washed my face, ignored the knowing smirks Lara threw at me in the car, and pretended that my soul wasn't currently doing backflips inside my ribcage.

But unfortunately, the universe doesn't let me stay in my safe, quiet corner for long.

A few hours later, I find myself trapped.

We’re in the dressing room of a major TV show studio, getting ready for a promotional segment. The room is a chaotic storm of hairspray, clothing racks, and busy staff members running around with clipboards. It is loud, hot, and packed to maximum capacity.

And Daniela is sitting directly in front of me.

She's in the makeup chair, her head tilted back as the stylist carefully applies a sweep of gold highlighter to her cheekbones. She looks radiant. Out of this world. Like a painting that walked out of a museum just to make my life difficult.

Every time she blinks, my chest does that weird, quiet stutter.

'One simple, honest thing', Lara’s voice rings in my head, loud and accusing. Just one.

I look down at my hands. I don't have coffee. I don't have a gift. Just little old me.

Time to improvise.

I do a quick sweep of the room. Wow, Katseye is a storm.

I name my options, chair, door, hairbrush, her cross necklace... a bug spray?

But then, I notice her phone sitting on the edge of the vanity table, right next to a cup of iced latte that is rapidly melting. The condensation is pooling on the wooden surface, slowly creeping toward her phone case.

Before my brain can launch a full-scale tactical panic about how okay it is to touch her things, my feet move.

I step forward, completely bypassing her stylist, and slide her phone away from the puddle, grabbing a stray paper towel to wipe the table clean.

Dani opens her eyes, her gaze catching mine in the mirror. She smiles, a soft, sleepy little thing that immediately makes the noise of the dressing room fade into static.

My face is already heating up as I toss the paper towel in the trash. "It was getting wet."

Dani’s dimple peeks out. "Thanks…"

She reaches out, her hand finding mine for a split second, her warm thumb grazing the side of my wrist before sliding down to hold my hand while she sits still for the eyeliner.

Her hands are so soft...

Lara catches my eye from the other side of the room, wiggling her eyebrows and making kissy faces.

I roll my eyes and look away, but my fingers are tingling, and for the first time in days, the heavy weight on my shoulders feels just a little bit lighter. How can one person's touch be so powerful?

After the very successful interview, where I had to fight my inner simp yet again to keep my eyes on the man asking whatever the hell he's asking instead of drifting to the beauty to my left, I find the nearest empty couch and plop down, waiting for the girls to finish getting unready so we can eat in the nearest drive-through.

I'm scrolling through pinterest when Manon graces me with her holy presence.

"Cap."

"Hmm," I grunt.

"Captain."

"HMMM." My god, can't a person mourn their stolen heart in peace?

Manon squints at me. "You're being weird again."

"I'm not being weird- wait…again? What is that supposed to mean?" I mutter, offended.

Sophia hops on the arm of the couch right next to me, making me jump six feet into the air.

"She's been like this for days," Sophia says to Manon, conspiratorially. "Glued to her phone. Unresponsive. Jumping every time someone breathes near her."

"I'm not jumping," I say. "I'm just…easily startled."

Sophia side eyes me, "Who do you think you're fooling, because it sure ain't me."

"Sophia, PLEASE don't start."

"Start what?" She blinks innocently.

"Soph, I'm not in the mood, seriously, I just-" I'm interrupted by my maknae in a shining tiara, who screams with those lovely Korean lungs:

"UNNIIEEE?!"

Oh my god, who died??

"YES CHIP?" I yell loudly, accidentally popping Sophia's eardrums, who shoves me in retaliation.

Should've thought twice before terrorising me.

"Chip? CHIP? Oh my god, what did she do now?" I begrudgingly leave my comfy couch, looking for Yoonchae.

I don't have to look far.

I find her squeezed behind a rolling rack of stage outfits, trying to disappear behind a fringe jacket. The plastic tiara on her head is crooked, blinking a neon pink against her dark hair.

"What did you do?" I whisper, leaning against the metal rack.

Yoonchae looks up, wide-eyed. "I didn't do anything! Megan is being dramatic."

"I am not being dramatic!" Megan’s voice cuts through from the other side of the room. She rounds the corner of the wardrobe cases, holding some kind of massacred heel like it's evidence at a crime scene. "She broke my heels!"

"It was an accident, Unnie," Yoonchae mumbles, shifting slightly behind my sleeve. "I didn't mean to. I said I was sorry."

"That was my favorite pair! Sorry won't glue it back together!" Megan shoots back, crossing her arms. "Also, how is it an accident when you fucking backflipped in it. Obviously it's gonna split in half."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Some days, I feel like an idol. Other days, I feel like a tired babysitter.

"Yoonchae," I sigh. "Sweetheart, first of all, you could've broken your neck. What were you...why would you even try that? Actually, don't tell me. Megan, don't kill her. I'll buy you a new one. She's sorry. And she's Yoonchae, try and touch a hair, see what happens."

Megan’s annoyed expression turns into a mask of extreme offense. "Okay, we know you're a simp for the hot Latina mami, and she can do whatever the hell she wants, but Yoonchae too? That's not fair! Why don't you get this protective over me?"

I glare down at the giggling problem, making her zip her mouth shut and make a motion of locking it and throwing away the key.

"Megan Meiyok Scandal I swear..." I look up at the ceiling, "I'm too hungry for this."

The pink-haired girl gapes, "SOPHIA?! YOU HEARD HER RIGHT?"

"Yes I did. No I am not correcting her." Sophia speaks from the couch, tearing up at the circus happening in front of her. Megan mumbles back, "Some leader you are."

I exhale a final "out of my sight, both of you."

Yoonchae giggles, giving me a quick salute and a "Love you Unnie" before running off to grab her things. Megan tosses the broken heel on the floor, looking bummed. "Thanks for nothing, Captain useless."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not arguing with pinkie pie." I turn around to head back to my spot on the couch, but my boots freeze mid-step.

Daniela has just walked out of the changing stalls, out of her performance clothes, wrapped in my oversized black zip-up hoodie. It basically hangs off of her, her curls piled up loosely on her head with a few loose tendrils framing her face. She looks so soft and perfect that my brain immediately goes blank.

She looks at Megan, then at me, standing in the middle of the room like an idiot.

"What happened?" Dani asks, her voice low as she steps closer. Her shoulder brushes me, sending a jolt down my arm.

"Yoonchae broke Megan's heels," Manon calls out from the couch, smirking. "The Captain had to break up the fight."

Dani giggles. She looks up at me, those hazel eyes warm and bright.

"A hero," Dani hums softly, reaching up to lightly tap my cheek with her finger. "Always keeping the peace. What would we do without you?"

My mouth opens, yet nothing comes out.

"Uh," I manage. Very cool, you useless gay.

Megan tries to save the day by dragging me to the couch. "While we wait for Lara to finish whatever the hell she's doing, let's decide where to eat."

Lesson of the day: never ask girls where to eat.

A sharp wail breaks the sound barrier, "SHAKE SHACK."

"NO" "AGAIN? WE HAD SHAKE SHACK LAST WEEK!" "I WANT PIZZAAAA" "Guys GUYS I'm craving Thai" "Nooooo Thai makes me bloateddddd." *loud-ass scratchy cough* "Manon, what the fuck."

Amidst the negotiations, I sit on the couch, praying for mercy.

Mercy comes in the form of a Latina angel flying straight into my lap.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Why me. WHY.

"I want tacos…"

I turn my head towards her slowly, blinking at her like a broken doll.

"Please?"

Oh no. Not the puppy eyes. Please don't pou- GODDAMMIT

"We're getting tacos."

"HEY, JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK SHE'S-" I slap my hand across Megan's face and shove her into the couch cushions.

"Tacos. Let's go."

You take one deep breath, think maybe things are finally quiet, and then life roundhouse kicks you to Narnia.

I had a solid plan. I was supposed to take her on yet another (attempt at a) date to that new Italian spot tucked between a laundromat and a bodega, where the lights are so soft that your heart would feel like spilling its secrets to the beauty sitting in front of you. Then I would treat her to a hearty meal and a shared dessert. Then I would finally say it.

I would confess.

I would tell her how much I love her.

How much she means to me.

How she occupied every spot in my mind, in my heart, in my life.

How I had laid eyes on her and never looked at another woman ever again.

Then I would ask her to be mine.

But I didn't tell her it was a date. Which I never did to be fair, because why would I ruin everything like that?

I played it safe. Keep it casual, I told myself. A walk. Just a walk. Nothing to be scared of. I texted her: Hey, want to go for a walk later today? The weather is supposed to be breezy.

She said yes. She even added a heart emoji.

My soul left my body for a full minute.

We agreed to meet at the corner of 8th and Main Street, where an old bookstore is. A good thirty-minute walk from the secret destination. She said she would be done by six pm. I showed up at the spot at 17:45, because I'm a fool who likes to suffer in advance.

18:00 came. Nothing.

18:15. I told myself traffic was bad. Probably.

18:30. I checked my phone for the nth time. No messages.

18:45. The sun had started to set, painting the street in shades of amber and rose. It was beautiful. I barely noticed.

I leaned against the brick wall outside the bookstore, hands shoved in my jacket pockets, trying to look like someone who wasn't slowly unraveling. People walked past me. Couples holding hands, friends laughing, a man walking his dog. Normal people living normal lives.

I was just standing there. Waiting. Hoping.

At 19:00, my phone buzzed.

Dani: So sorry!!! I'm running late but leaving now. Still want to meet?

I stared at the screen. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Yes, I typed. I'll wait.

Dani: Okay! See you soon <3

Another heart. Two hearts now. I was going to combust.

The streetlights flickered on, one by one. The air grew colder. I watched cars pass, headlights cutting through the fading light, and every time one slowed down, my heart lurched. This is it. She's here.

But it was never her.

19:30. A text.

Dani: sooo please don't be mad

I gulp.

Me: why would I be?

Dani: um you know how I went to see some friends today?

I sigh, please…please don't say it.

Me: yeah?

Dani: they wanted to get dinner together

A beat. Then a raincheck? I swear I'll make it up to you.

I blink back my tears. I'm a grown woman. Why would I cry over a cancelled date? She didn't even know it was a date.

Me: sure yeah have fun

Dani: are you sure? I can just leave and come to you right now

Me: no it's ok. it's just a walk dani. I'll be fine.

Me: I just wanted your company is all. Delivered.

I just wanted you.

I go home looking like a kicked puppy. Well, there goes another plan.

I don't cry. I'm too tired for that. I just sit on the couch in the dark, phone facedown on the cushion beside me, and stare at the ceiling.

Later - minutes, hours, I don't know - I pick up my phone again.

Dani posted a story. Just for close friends. A group shot at a table covered in white tablecloths and wine glasses. She's smiling at the camera, the dim lighting highlighting her features beautifully.

And there, right next to her, is Jonah.

His arm is slung across her shoulders. Casual. Easy. Like he belongs there.

That's the restaurant, I realize. The one I was going to take her to.

The one where I was going to confess. The one where I was going to tell her that she's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing on my mind before I fall asleep.

She's there. With him. Well, there are other people too, but still.

I lock my phone. Toss it on the other end of the couch.

I don't like Italian food anyway, I tell myself.

It's a lie. I love Italian food.

But right now, I think I might never eat it again.

After that incident, I decided to be more forward when asking. So when the next chance presents itself, almost two weeks later, I don't hesitate before asking her.

"Soooo…Dani?" I lean over the back of the couch casually, as if putting myself out there comes to me naturally. Fake it till you make it, right?

"Yes, jefa?" She blinks up at me. I melt for a second because what do you mean this woman is not mine?

Alright, let's get it right this time. Deep breaths. "Say, if I were to ask if…you'd like to go out with me, maybe to watch a movie? Would you?"

She grins, that dimpled smile that pierces my heart like Cupid's arrow. "Sure, yeah, did you ask the girls or do you want me to?"

Fuck no I didn't…"Umm, no. I was hoping it could be just us. Just you and me."

Her grin shifts into a thinking face, "Sure, yeah. Yeah." Please don't sound too excited, I think sarcastically.

A win is a win.

We end up at a small theater downtown on a Thursday evening. It's a bit old, smelling faintly of buttered popcorn and carpet cleaner. I paid for the tickets before she could even reach for her purse, holding the heavy door open for her with a racing pulse.

"Thanks, babe," Dani hums, brushing past me. The scent of her perfume catches in my throat. She looks ethereal, clad in low-waisted sweats and a cropped shirt.

We find our seats in the back row, the theater nearly empty. The screen is still dark, playing quiet, local advertisements. I'm sitting so stiffly I might as well be carved from stone. My left shoulder is only two inches from hers. I can feel the heat radiating off her skin.

This is it, I think. A movie. Dark room. No distractions. Just us. Perfect. Just...open your mouth and speak...

Then, the sharp neon light of her phone screen pierces the darkness.

She's typing. Quickly. Her face is illuminated in that cool glow, a small, soft smile playing on her lips.

My chest stutters. I look down, my hand slipping inside my jacket pocket to grip my own phone.

I pull it out, angling the screen away, and frantically open my messages.

Me: Lara. Emergency.

The response is nearly instantaneous.

Lara: Did you do it? Did you tell her?

Me: No. She's on her phone. Smiling.

Lara: Smiling at what?

Me: At him. I know it's him.

Lara: Cap. Don't do this to yourself. Just ask her to put the phone away. Or start a conversation.

Before I can type back, Dani locks her screen with a soft click. She slides it into her lap, face down, and turns to me in the dim light.

"Sorry," she whispers, her eyes shining. " That was Jonah. He actually recommended this movie to me last week. I told him we're about to see it."

The words hit my chest like a physical blow. The air in my lungs vanishes.

He recommended this. He chose the movie we're about to watch. Why is that leech everywhere?

"Oh," I manage to say. My voice sounds thin, hollowed out. "Cool. Is he… into indie films?"

"He likes anything with a good twist," Dani says easily, leaning back into her plush seat. She reaches over, casually dipping her fingers into the bucket of popcorn nestled between us, her knuckles grazing mine. "He said the ending of this one is supposed to blow your mind."

My phone buzzes in my pocket. A silent vibration against my thigh.

I pull it out under the cover of my jacket, lowering the brightness in the dark room.

Lara: You still there? What's happening?

Me: He recommended the movie. I'm so done with this bitch.

Lara: Oh crap

Lara: Do you want me to call you? I can pretend Yoonchae locked herself in the bathroom again

Lara: I'll get Megan to scream in the background too

I stare at the text. A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.

Me: No. It's fine. I'm staying.

Lara: Are you going to tell her?

I look up from my screen. Next to me, Dani is looking at the screen as the main title begins to play, her jaw resting in her hand, her profile painted in the shifting amber light of the projector. She looks so beautiful, it makes my teeth ache.

Me: No.

I lock my phone and shove it deep into my pocket.

"Everything ok?" Dani whispers, leaning in close so her breath tickles my ear. "Was that Lara?"

"Yeah," I whisper back into the dark. "All good."

I don't confess. I don't tell her that I spent three hours selecting this specific theater because I thought the lack of crowds would make her comfortable. I don't tell her that I memorized the map of the streets nearby just in case she wanted to walk afterward.

I just sit there, watching the colors shift across her face, while my heart breaks in a quiet, synchronized rhythm with the flickering projector.

I don't like movies anyway, I tell myself.

It's a lie. I love movies.

But right now, I think I'll never watch another one. Not for a while, at least.

"Well, that sucked ass, Larz. I failed like a pro."

I was lounging on Lara's bed while she painted her toes, complaining about my failed non-date date.

"Don't be like that, Y/N/N. You're being too hard on yourself."

My voice comes out scratchy, "What am I doing wrong? Better yet, what is he doing right? I don't understand. You tell me to try, but clearly she's into him. Like, really into him."

She hands me the bottle of her nail polish, "Babe, I hate to break it to you, but you're hot. Like, even I would give you a chance."

I feel my face burn, "Oh wow. Thank you. What an honor it is to be up to standards for Rising Global Popstar Sensation Lara Raj."

She giggles, "You know what I mean, dumbass." She grabs the bottle and caps it, fanning the fresh paint to dry it faster. "I'm just saying, you're sweet, gentle, not too hard on the eyes. Sometimes funny, if you try hard enough-" that earns her a solid side eye, "-I'm kidding... mostly"

"Ass"

"You love me"

"Unfortunately."

"Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, you're not missing anything, and there's nothing wrong with you. And if I know Daniela Avanzini well enough, which I do by the way, I'd say she's like, 89 percent in denial."

"89 percent? Why not 90 percent? Why not 85 percent?"

"Don't interrupt my analysis, Y/N." She glares.

"Sorry, continue."

"As I was saying, she's probably in denial. I know that girl loves you. She shows all the signs."

"But what about-"

She points at me threateningly, "What did I say about interrupting?"

"My apologies, your majesty."

"Her heart and her mind are in different places. Just give her time."

I raise my hand.

"Oh my god," she snorts, "talk, you dork."

"I know she loves me, but maybe it's just platonic love. She's my best friend-"

"hoe?"

"-right after you, of course." I get a satisfied smile in return. "I'm gonna lay low. Back off for a bit. Give her space."

"But wouldn't that be letting him win?"

I stop to think, would it?

"I don't care about him, Lara. I want her to be comfortable, happy. With me or him or whomever."

She looks at me with understanding, "Come here, you big wall of feelings."

I lean into her open arms, finding comfort in her embrace. "Thank you for not letting me go insane, Larz."

I feel a soft kiss on top of my head. "You're welcome, Y/N/N," Lara says in her soft, warm tone that feels like a hug.

"-and for the record, I think you're hot too."

"Shhh, you gay simp."

I actually stuck to my word. I backed off.

It turns out that the hardest part of laying low isn't the physical distance; it’s the muscle memory. My thumb has a mind of its own. It wants to open her chat, send her a dumb TikTok, or ask her if she wants me to bring her a latte before rehearsal.

Every time my screen lit up with her name, my chest did that stupid, hopeful flutter, only for me to physically force myself to slide the phone face-down on the counter.

Dani: Hey Cap :) You free for lunch today?

I waited an hour. A whole, agonizing sixty minutes.

Me: Hey! Busy in the studio with Lara today. Catch you later?

It feels like drawing a knife across my own throat, but I lock the screen and throw the phone across the studio couch.

"If you stare at that cushion any harder, it’s going to catch fire," Lara murmurs, not looking up from her acoustic guitar. She's sitting on the floor of the practice room, her legs crossed, a notebook balanced on her knee.

"I'm not staring," I grumble, grabbing a pen. "I'm focusing."

"Right. Focusing on the invisible Latina ghost currently occupying the corner of the room." Lara struck a minor chord, the sound low and melancholic. "Come on, Captain. Let’s actually use this misery. Sing something."

We spend the next four hours doing exactly that. No schedules, no producers, no hopeless crushes. Just me and Lara, throwing lyric fragments back and forth like we used to. We wrote about things that were too heavy to say out loud, about building high walls only to watch someone effortlessly scale them, and about the quiet tragedy of waiting at a bookstore on 8th and Main. Songs that don't have to go into project mode, but just something for us to let loose.

Lara stopped strumming midway through a verse, her eyes scanning my messy handwriting. "'I can't act like I don't keep dressing for the storm, then blame the sky.'" She raised an eyebrow.

"What?" I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up.

"Nothing." She shook her head, but her smile was incredibly soft. She nudged my knee with her foot. "Come on. We're getting out of here. No more brooding. I'm taking you to that terrible 24-hour arcade downtown."

"Larz, it's nine PM on a Friday."

"Exactly. Prime time for crushing teenagers at air hockey."

She drags me out, and for the first time in weeks, I actually let myself breathe. We spend three hours wasting tokens, screaming over rigged claw machines, and eating ridiculously greasy fries at a diner down the street. We drive back home with the windows rolled down, singing terribly to cliche pop songs at the top of our lungs.

For a brief moment, the heavy band of tension around my ribs loosened. I was just a girl hanging out with her best friend.

But the bubble had to pop eventually.

The next afternoon, the reality of being in a seven-member girl group caught up with me. We were all gathered to supposedly review our schedule for the upcoming promotional shows, but mostly just descending into our usual brand of domestic chaos.

Megan was upside down on the armchair, trying to balance a half-empty water bottle on her foot. Sophia was dramatically recounting a minor inconvenience from her morning coffee run, gesturing wildly.

I sat on the far end of the long sectional couch, tucked safely between Manon, who was lazily scrolling through her phone, and Lara, who was rolling my baby curls between her fingers as she listened to Sophia yap.

During the laughter, Dani kept glancing at me, like she had a question she didn't know how to ask. I immediately looked down, focusing on the schedule PDF on my phone screen, a far cry from my famous confession notes.

Dani swept her eyes over the room once more, her gaze stopping on me. "Hey Y/N/N," she said, her voice carrying after the girls settled.

"Hey," I replied, keeping my tone polite, even, and entirely brief. I didn't jump up. I didn't offer a place on the couch next to me. I just smiled warmly, like I always did, and kept scrolling.

Dani sat there for a split second, looking slightly blinked out by my sudden lack of energy. Usually, the second she said my name, my entire focus was on her, shifting to make space for her, asking if she needed anything.

Slowly, she walked over to our end of the couch. She stood by my knees, waiting. I kept my eyes glued to the PDF.

Damn, this is harder than it looks...

"Cap," Dani murmured, reaching out. Her fingers lightly brushed against my pants. "You got a second? I wanted to show you this dance cover I saw on TikTok."

My skin tingled where she touched me, but I forced a tight smile and looked up. "Um, Sophia and I need to go over these details for next week's schedule in a minute. Maybe later?"

Dani’s hand slid off me. Her hazel eyes narrowed slightly, a tiny crease forming between her brows. It was a look of pure confusion, mixed with a hint of something that looked dangerously like frustration. Her eyes darted to Lara for a split second, so fast that I would've missed it if I wasn't laser-focused on her 24/7.

"Oh," she said, her voice dropping. "Okay. No worries."

She stood there for another second, as if waiting for me to take it back, to say 'just kidding, show me now'. But I didn't. I just nodded and looked back at my screen.

Dani slowly backed away, pouting as she headed over to Megan to show her the TikTok instead.

From my left, Manon let out a quiet, barely audible hum. She didn't look up from her phone, but she whispered, "Cold, Captain. Very cold."

"I'm not cold," I muttered back, "we really do have to go over the schedule."

"You're just different today," Manon corrected smoothly. "You sure you're okay?"

I nod once.

I feel Lara's hand slide down to my shoulder, her chin resting on top of it. She sighed, not commenting, just grounding me with her silent support.

I felt a massive, painful lump form in my throat. My chest felt so tight I could barely draw air. I'm doing this for her, I reminded myself. To make her comfortable. To give her space so she can be happy with whoever she wants.

I can feel my walls building back up, brick by brick. I didn't want them to. I really, really didn't. But if I stay defenseless in the face of her charm, I'm going to end up suffering a much, much more painful heartbreak.

The trip to hell didn’t stop there. I had to make it a lifestyle.

Over the next week and a half, the opportunities to break my own rules were constant, tempting me at every corner. Living with the person you are desperately trying to build a wall against is a special kind of psychological torture. You can't just block their number or avoid their side of town. They are in your kitchen. They are in your bathroom. They are sleeping one wall away from you.

So, I had to gently, painfully, let her down in little increments.

It started small. During a break in dance practice on Sunday morning, I was sitting on the floor in the corner, leaning against the mirror and trying to catch my breath.

"Cap," Dani said softly, walking over and dropping down beside me. She smelled like her body mist and exertion. Without asking, she reached out, her fingers naturally moving to tuck a damp, stray curl behind my ear, a mindless, deeply affectionate habit she'd formed over the past years.

In the past, I would have leaned into her touch. I would have closed my eyes and let my head tilt toward her palm like a touch-starved idiot, soaking up the quiet intimacy.

But as her hand approached, my stomach did a violent flip. Every instinct I had screamed at me to stay still and let her touch me. I craved it. But I forced myself to move. Just as her fingertips were about to graze my temple, I abruptly shifted my weight, leaning away and pretending to reach for my water bottle on my other side.

Her hand met empty air.

"God, it's so hot in here," I mumbled, keeping my voice painfully casual as I unscrewed the cap, refusing to look at her as I took a long drink.

In the corner of my eye, I saw Dani’s hand stay frozen in mid-air for a second too long. Her smile didn't falter, instead turning into something so microscopically strained that I thought I was seeing things. Maybe I was.

She stared at me for three agonizing seconds, her hazel eyes scanning the side of my face, looking for the playful spark that usually accompanied our interactions. There wasn't one.

"Oh," she murmured, her voice dropping a fraction of an octave. She slowly lowered her hand, resting it on her knee. "Yeah. I think the AC is broken."

She stayed, smiling with her dimples out, talking about one of our choreos the fans are replicating on TikTok.

The next day, it was the van ride. Usually, we gravitated toward the very back row, squished together, sharing her pair of AirPods. When we climbed into the van after a long fitting, she immediately moved to the back, pulling her AirPods out of their case.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, gave her a tight smile, and sat in the middle row next to Lara instead, claiming I needed to look at the GPS on the center console. I watched in the rearview mirror as Dani’s shoulders slumped, her AirPods resting on her lap, before she packed them up and turned to Manon, talking with her hands.

Lara grabbed my hand, turning to ask me if I wanted to watch a movie with her that night.

The thing is, completely freezing out Daniela Avanzini is physically impossible. She's still my best friend...sort of. I couldn't just say no to everything, even if that was the - fairly unrealistic - plan. So, when she asked me on Wednesday afternoon if I wanted to walk to the local boba shop a few blocks away, I said yes. Because yes, I crave her sometimes, okay?

I told myself I could handle it. Just two friends getting drinks. Clean, simple, platonic. Clown.

The walk there was agonizing. The weather was perfect. A crisp, breezy afternoon with the sun filtering through the trees, painting dappled golden light across Dani's face. She looked stunning in a pair of oversized vintage jeans and a cropped sweater, her hair blowing softly in the wind. She always did make the simplest things look ethereal.

She was trying so hard to be bright, to bridge the strange, invisible gap that had formed between us. She talked about the upcoming Latam tour, about a movie she wanted to see, about a funny picture her mom had sent her. And I replied. I nodded. I laughed at the right times. But the warmth was less. Not gone, just...less.

As we walked down the narrow sidewalk, her shoulder repeatedly brushed against mine, a natural consequence of her walking slightly too close, a proximity she always favored with me. Normally, I would lean into it. I would let our arms touch. Today, I kept my hands shoved deep inside my pockets, physically leaning my weight slightly to the left to maintain a safe six-inch gap between our bodies.

When we finally got our drinks and sat at a small, circular metal table outside the shop, the tension was suffocating. The size of the table forced us to be close, knees occasionally bumping together. I took a long sip of my blueberry milk tea, staring intently at the traffic passing by on the street.

Daniela set her drink down. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. And then, slowly, deliberately, she reached across the small metal surface. She rested her hand right next to my elbow, palm up. Her fingers were curled slightly, waiting.

It was the universal signal. Hold my hand.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought the ribcage would crack. Every single nerve ending in my body screamed at me to uncurl my hands from my pockets, to slide my palm against hers, to interlock our fingers and let the world fade away. It would be so easy.

But then her phone lit up. Jonah. I bet my right pinkie toe it was him.

I swallowed hard, forcing my eyes away from her waiting hand and to her phone. Instead of reaching for her, I reached for my drink. I pulled it closer to the center of the table, wrapping both of my hands firmly around the cold plastic cup, using the condensation to numb my tingling palms.

Dani didn't say anything for a long moment. She just looked at my hands, tightly gripping the plastic cup, and then slowly pulled her own hand back, briefly looking at the notification without opening it.

"Not gonna answer it?" I jutted my chin at the devil's making. She chuckled, "It's just Jonah."

Just Jonah? Well, I don't know what to make of that...

I risked a glance at her face. The light in her hazel eyes had dimmed, replaced by a mounting bewilderment. She looked so profoundly confused by my sudden distance. I hated myself. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. But I held my tongue. I was protecting myself. Protecting her.

Yes, this is for her. And maybe I was being a little selfish, but I never wanted to hurt her.

It shouldn't even hurt if she didn't have feelings for me.

Right?

The problem is that leeches are sticky, slimy parasites that latch on tightly, becoming nasty reminders of everything you wanted to forget.

We were all gathered in the kitchen, the center of our chaotic domestic life. Sophia was standing at the stove, aggressively stirring a massive pot of spicy ramyun, arguing loudly with Manon about the correct amount of seasoning while Yoonchae stared on, disappointed. Megan was sitting on the kitchen island, swinging her feet and scrolling through her phone. I was standing at the cutting board on the opposite counter, quietly chopping green onions, trying to be useful and invisible at the same time.

Daniela was sitting at the dining table just a few feet away, her chin resting in her hand, lazily spinning a coaster with her finger.

"Oh my god," Megan suddenly blurted, her voice cutting sharply through the hum of the kitchen. She shoved her phone screen toward Dani. "Did you guys see Jonah’s new post? He looks like a wannabe Drake. But the whiter version."

Manon spat her water out at that. Honestly? Same.

"Wait, Dani, is that the silver chain you bought him?" Sophia pointed out.

My hand froze. The sharp blade of the chef’s knife hovered a millimeter over a green onion. My breath caught in my throat.

Dani perked up immediately. A bright, genuine smile bloomed across her face, softening her features. "Yes! He literally wears it every single day now. Even sends me pictures. He says it's his lucky charm."

"Ugh, stop, that is too cute," Megan groaned, tossing her phone onto the counter and dramatically clutching her chest. "Honestly, you guys are kind of goals right now. The way he supports you is insane. He's always commenting on our group stuff."

"Yeah," Dani hummed, her voice shifting into that sweet, private, affectionate tone she only ever used when she was truly enamored. "He really is so sweet. We’re actually talking about going to that new car exhibit downtown this weekend, and he said he wants to take me to this rooftop place for dinner right after..."

I couldn’t breathe.

The air in the kitchen suddenly felt hot and thick. The sound of Sophia’s boiling ramyun, Megan’s high-pitched giggling, and Dani’s soft, adoring voice all merged into a loud, screeching static in my ears.

We. Us. He wants to take me.

My vision blurred slightly at the edges. They were going on dates. Real dates. They were building a relationship, making plans, buying lucky charms. He was getting the weekends I used to dream of. He was getting the dinners, the romantic dates, the soft, private smiles. He was getting her heart.

He was a cardboard cutout of a man, a completely average guy with a nice smile barely and a 401k, and he was getting everything I was bleeding for, simply because he was a man and he wasn't terrified to ask.

"Y/N/N, you're going to chop your actual finger off," Sophia warned gently, reaching over from the stove to tap my wrist.

I blinked rapidly, the kitchen coming back into sharp focus. I looked down. My hand was shaking so badly the knife was trembling against the wooden cutting board, rattling slightly.

"Sorry," I muttered. My voice sounded incredibly thin, hollowed out from the inside. I set the knife down with a soft, definitive click, stepping back from the counter. "I... I think I'm actually not feeling too well. I have a headache. I'm gonna go lay down."

"But the ramyun is literally about to be done," Sophia pouted, waving a wooden spoon at me. "You haven't eaten real food all day."

"It's fine. Eat my share," I said, forcing a tight, plastic smile that felt like a grimace.

I didn't look at the dining table. I didn't look at Megan. I actively avoided looking anywhere near Daniela. But as I washed my hands and turned to walk down the narrow hallway toward my bedroom, I could feel her eyes burning into the side of my face. It was a heavy, demanding gaze, practically begging me to look back, to explain, to say something.

I didn't. I kept my eyes on the floor and sped-walked until my bedroom door clicked firmly shut behind me.

I didn't turn on the lights. I just crawled into my bed, still wearing my jeans and oversized sweater, pulling the duvet all the way up to my chin. I curled into a tight ball, staring blankly at the dark wall, feeling the suffocating weight of my own misery crushing my chest.

Ten minutes later, the door handle clicked. The door opened without a knock.

Lara walked in, the ambient light from the hallway framing her silhouette. She was carrying a half-eaten bowl of ramyun in one hand and her phone in the other. She took one look at me, a miserable lump in the dark, and let out a long, heavy sigh.

She kicked the door shut with her heel, set her bowl on my nightstand, and climbed directly onto my mattress. Without a word of warning, she dragged her entire body over mine, draping herself across my back and legs like a human weighted blanket. It was a classic Lara move. Suffocating love.

"Get offfff," I groaned into my pillow, though I didn't actually flex a single muscle to push her away. I just buried my face deeper into the cotton.

"No," Lara murmured, resting her chin heavily on my shoulder, her dark curls spilling over my neck and tickling my jaw. "You're brooding. When you brood, you become a safety hazard to your own mental health. I'm grounding you."

"I'm not brooding."

"Liar." She nudged my sides sharply with her perfectly manicured index finger. "Sophia is worried because you left the food. Megan is confused. And Manon looked like she was about to physically dismantle the kitchen island with her bare hands when you walked out. I walked in on an awkward disaster in there."

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to think about Manon dismantling anything. I just wanted to disappear.

"You're not moving, are you?" I glance up at the weight suffocating me.

"No, I'm not, you sad fuck."

I bite back my smile, feeling a slight ease in my mood.

A few minutes of silence later, and I reached blindly under my pillow, sliding my phone out. I unlocked it and opened TikTok, mindlessly swiping through the 'For You' page. It was a defensive reflex, a desperate attempt to keep my eyes and hands busy so I wouldn't start crying in front of my best friend.

But the algorithm, much like the universe, is a sadist.

On my fourth swipe, a video popped up. It wasn't a dance trend. It was a fan-made compilation video. The music was some slow, sickly-sweet romantic pop song, synced to a string of photos, both selfies and pap shots of the 'cutest new couple'. Daniela and Jonah.

The caption read: Dani & Jonah are literally so hot together

I stared at the screen. The light reflected in my eyes, cold and mocking. The video looped once. Twice.

A heavy, aching lump formed in my throat, so painful it felt like swallowing glass. God, this feeling just doesn't leave me, does it?

I felt Lara huff above me.

I locked the screen, throwing the phone onto the empty side of the bed.

"Larz?" I whispered into the quiet, dark room.

"Yeah, babe?" Lara replied softly, shifting her weight slightly to get more comfortable on my back.

"Do you..." I gulped, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Do you think she's..."

She hugged me tighter, waiting patiently for me to spit it out.

"...fruity? Like... did I just completely fabricate the vibe? Did I invent this entire thing in my head because I wanted it so badly?"

Lara was utterly silent for a long moment. Then, she let out a loud, undignified snort, shaking her head so violently her hair whipped against my cheek. She rolled off my back, propping herself up on her elbow next to me, looking down at my face in the dim light.

"Are you serious?" Lara asked, staring at me like I had just suggested adopting a child with her. "Daniela? The woman who literally cannot hold a conversation with you without staring at your mouth? The woman who took one look at you during our trainee days and forgot how to speak English? Cap, she is about as straight as a wet noodle. She is incredibly, profoundly, undeniably fruity."

"Then why is she with him?" I whispered, my voice finally cracking. A single, hot tear slipped out of the corner of my eye, soaking instantly into the pillowcase. "Why is he everywhere? Why is she buying him jewelry and going on romantic rooftop dates? I can't compete with a guy who can just... take her out. I can't compete with normal. I can't keep watching it."

Lara's expression softened entirely. The teasing light left her eyes, replaced by a deep, fierce, protective warmth. She reached out, gently brushing a stray curl away from my forehead, her thumb wiping away the tear track on my cheek.

"I know, Cap," she whispered softly, her voice aching with sympathy. "I know it hurts like hell. But you're assuming again. You're building these massive walls to protect yourself, but all you're doing is locking yourself in the dark. You are so busy running away that you aren't giving her a chance to catch you. Just... talk to her."

"I can't," I breathed, closing my eyes. "If I talk to her, and I'm wrong... I lose my best friend. I lose everything."

Suddenly, the faintest sound of a floorboard creaking broke the silence.

My eyes shot open. I looked past Lara’s shoulder.

My bedroom door, which I had firmly clicked shut, was now open about three inches. In the sliver of golden light spilling from the hallway, I saw a flash of dark, curly hair.

It was Dani.

She was standing frozen in the doorway. From her angle, looking through the narrow crack, she could only see Lara propped up on her elbow, leaning over my body, her hand gently cupping my face, her thumb brushing my cheek in the dark, intimate silence of my bedroom.

Lara glanced back to see her, slowly getting off and smiling quizzically at her. I sat up, too.

For a split second, no one says anything. Dani's eyes met mine.

The look on her face wasn't anger. It wasn't confusion. It was pure, unadulterated shock. Her face was completely frozen in a weird half-smile.

"Hey, um...sorry to interrupt you guys. I was just checking if Y/N/N was okay. Looks like you beat me to it."

Before I could even open my mouth to speak, Daniela stepped back.

"Anyways, I'm just gonna..." Then, the door clicked shut, so softly and quickly it was like she was a ghost who had never been there at all.

"Did..." I blinked, my heart dropping into my stomach. "I don't understand this woman." I lay back on my pillow, rubbing my eyes till I see stars.

Lara glanced over her shoulder, looking at me with a smirk. "She was soooo jealous."

I pull her back down by the back of her shirt, "NO she was NOT?!?!"

Lara bursts out laughing, "She was, trust your bestie."

We spent the night talking about nothing and everything, eventually falling asleep to the sound of a movie playing from my laptop, Lara's spicy ramyun sitting on my nightstand, cold and forgotten.

The snapping point came two days later.

It was a rainy evening. We had just finished a grueling, six-hour rehearsal at the studio. The air in the practice room was thick with the scent of sweat, humidity, and floor wax. The other girls had already packed their gym bags and headed down to the van, their loud, echoing laughter fading down the long hallway.

I stayed behind, taking my time with packing up and talking to the staff. I just wanted to delay getting on that van, hating the fact that I had to make an excuse not to sit next to her every time.

Which is basically killing me. She's been looking extra lovable recently, with those goddamn hazel eyes and deep brackets surrounding her perfect smile.

I was standing near the mirrors, breathing heavily, wiping the sweat from my neck with a damp towel. The studio was completely quiet with everyone gone, save for the sound of the rain lashing against the massive windows.

Suddenly, the heavy glass door of the studio clicked open.

I looked up, expecting the manager or Sophia to come drag me to the car, or a cleaning staff member ready to mop the floors.

It was Daniela.

She had her duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair was damp from the rain outside, her dark curls clinging to her temples. She was wearing her oversized practice sweats, but she didn't look relaxed. Her face was pale, her jaw set, her lips pressed into a hard, tight line. She didn't look soft. She didn't look sleepy or sweet. She looked like a hurricane that had finally made landfall. A very beautiful, very scary Latina hurricane.

She stormed into the room, letting her heavy duffel bag slide off her shoulder. It hit the floorboards with a loud, echoing thud. She closed the door behind her, throwing the deadbolt lock with a sharp click.

She didn't stop walking until she was standing directly in front of me, completely obliterating my mandatory two-foot radius. She was so close I had to tilt my head down to look her in the eyes.

My cute little angry gremlin...

...NO. Bad Y/N.

"What is your problem?" she demanded.

Her voice wasn't loud. It wasn't a scream. But it vibrated with a sharp, raw intensity that made my breath hitch in my throat.

I pulled the towel down from my neck, swallowing nervously. I tried to plaster on my mask, the calm, unbothered facade I had perfected over the last two weeks, asking her, "What?"

"Oh so you don't understand English now? Want to hear it in Spanish? ¿Qué te pasa, huh? ¿Qué mierda te pasa??" She jabs her finger in my sternum, spitting out her anger.

I blink, slightly terrified, definitely turned on.

"I don't have a problem, Dani," I said, keeping my voice painfully even. Do not think these unholy thoughts! "I'm just finishing up my cool-down. We should probably get to the van, the driver is waiting-"

"Aye, stop it, cabrón!" she snapped, taking another aggressive step forward. She was so close now I could smell her perfume. "Stop doing that. Stop talking to me like that! Stop- stop treating me like...like I'm some fucking stranger!"

"I'm not treating you like a stranger," I said, stepping back until my spine hit the cool mirror. "I'm just... We're busy, Dani. It's been crazy, that's all."

"Don't use the schedule as an excuse! Is the schedule telling you to avoid me?" she hissed.

"I'm not avoiding you, Dani-"

"FUCKING STOP Y/N. ¡Basta!" she yelled, her voice finally breaking. The sound echoed painfully off the four walls.

She threw her hands up in the air, her chest heaving. "You don't get to say that. You don't get to say that you don't ignore my entire existence when you stopped sitting next to me! You changed! You wouldn't hold my hand at the boba shop, you flinch away every time I try to touch you, you practically run out of the room every time I enter it! What did I do? Just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it!"

My chest felt like it was being crushed by a thousand buses. For the first time in a while, I looked into her eyes, seeing her emotions clearly. It killed me to see the love of my life so upset, the hazel color blurred by her tears.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Dani," I whispered, my voice cracking humiliatingly on her name. "You're perfect."

"Then why are you leaving me?" she cried. A single tear spilled over her dark eyelashes, tracing a wet, shiny path down her flushed cheek. "Why are you pushing me away? I feel like... I feel like I'm losing my best friend and I don't even know why!"

"You're not losing me-"

"DO NOT FUCKING LIE TO ME Y/N-"

"Because you have Jonah!" I finally burst out.

The words ripped out of my throat before I could stop them. They were loud and jagged and raw, shattering the heavy quiet of the empty studio. I couldn't hold it back anymore. The dam I had spent weeks fortifying completely crumbled to dust around my feet.

Daniela froze. Her mouth parted slightly, her eyes widening in pure, unadulterated shock.

"What?" she whispered.

"You have Jonah!" I yelled, my eyes burning with hot, angry tears. "He's everywhere! He's on your phone, he's in your texts, he's in your life! You're buying him jewelry! You're going to romantic rooftop dinners with him! You're in love with him, Daniela! You have a perfect, normal boyfriend, and I'm... I'm just the stupid, useless gay best friend who has to sit on the sidelines and pretend my heart isn't breaking every time your phone pings!"

Daniela stared at me. The silence in the studio was deafening, filled only by the sound of our ragged, heavy breathing and the rain against the glass.

A slow, bewildered expression crossed her face.

"Jonah?" she repeated, her voice high and incredulous. "You're doing this... because of Jonah?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, a tear finally escaping and tracking down my own cheek. I wiped it aggressively. "He gets to take you out! He gets your weekends! He gets to hold your hand in public without it being a scandal!"

"Y/N/N," Dani said, a strange, hysterical little laugh escaping her lips as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Jonah is... Jonah is safe. He's a nice guy. He buys me flowers. He tells me I look pretty."

"Exactly!" I cried, gesturing wildly. "He's perfect for you!"

"He's not you!" Dani screamed back, stepping forward and shoving both of her hands hard against my chest. She's small but her power is enough to make me hit the mirror behind me. I gasped slightly, my eyes widening.

"He's not you!" Dani repeated, her voice cracking, tears streaming freely down her face now. "He's boring! He's safe! I am settling for him because he actually had the guts to look at me and tell me he wanted me! Unlike you!"

My brain completely stalled. The gears locked. The static in my head went pin-drop silent.

"Unlike... me?" I whispered, looking down at her hands pressed against my heart.

"Yes, you idiot!" Dani sobbed, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. "I practically threw myself at you! I sat in your lap! I slept on your shoulder in every van ride! I stole your hoodies because they smelled like you and I wanted to be wrapped in them! Wrapped in YOU! I spent months trying to show you, trying to make you see, but you gave me absolutely nothing! You just stood there like a brick wall!"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"So I thought I was delusional," Dani continued, her voice dropping into a desperate, broken whisper. "I thought I was assuming things, and that you only saw me as a friend. And then... and then you started spending all your time with Lara."

"Lara?" I breathed.

"Yes, Lara!" Dani cried, her grip tightening, shaking me as if trying to wake me from a trance. "You became so close, so fast. You're constantly in her room. You let her play with your hair. You go out with her instead of me. And then the other night, I went to your room to ask if you were feeling better, and I saw her..." Dani squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears falling. "I saw her practically on top of you in the dark. Holding you. Touching your face. I thought... I thought you realized I was getting too close, and you pushed me away because you were in love with her."

The sheer, monumental weight of our combined stupidity hit me so hard I felt lightheaded.

All this time. All these months of aching, silent torture, of crying in the dark, of writing miserable songs and running away from the only thing I wanted.

"Dani," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. I slowly, carefully brought my hands up, gently wrapping my fingers around her wrists to keep her hands pressed against my chest. "Dani, look at me."

She opened her hazel eyes. They were a deep, rich gold in the dim light of the studio, swimming with unshed tears.

"Lara is my best friend," I said, my voice trembling but sure. "She's my wall. My backbone. The only reason she was in my room, the only reason she was holding me, was because she was trying to keep me from falling apart. She was holding me together because... because I was so desperately, irrevocably in love with you, and watching you talk about Jonah was literally killing me."

Dani’s breath hitched sharply. Her lips parted.

"You..." she whispered, her hands slowly uncurling from my mangled shirt, her palms flattening against my beating heart. "You love me?"

"I have loved you since the very first day," I confessed, the honesty pouring out of me, sweet and heavy and undeniable. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of a mountain crumble into dust.

"I love you, Daniela Andrea Avanzini Llorente. I've loved you since the very beginning. For years. I was just too terrified to say it. I thought you were untouchable. I thought I wasn't enough."

"You are such a fool," Dani murmured. A beautiful, watery smile finally broke across her face, her dimple peeking out on her tear-stained cheek.

"I know," I whispered, my hands sliding from her wrists, traveling slowly up her arms, over her shoulders, to gently cup her face. "I'm a world-class idiot."

"A very hot idiot," she said softly, leaning her cheek heavily into my palm, looking up at me with those eyes that can make me do anything. Her lips curved into a small smile, dimples faintly there.

And then, she pulled me down.

The kiss was not a crash, nor a whisper. It was a slow, warm, desperate snapping of a taught string that had been stretched to its limit for months, years. Her lips were soft, perfect, tasting faintly of her butter lip balm and salt from her tears. They parted under mine with a quiet, needy sigh. My hands slid down her back, pressing her flush against me, my fingers tangling in the damp curls at the nape of her neck as I drank her in.

She wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, standing on her tiptoes, kissing me with a fierce, possessive hunger that made my knees genuinely weak.

The studio, the rain lashing against the glass, the looming stress of our idol life, everything faded into absolute silence.

There was nothing but the heat of her skin, the frantic, synchronized rhythm of our breathing, and the quiet, undeniable understanding that the unshakeable wall had finally, completely, crumbled under the touch of a beautiful love.

And I never, ever wanted to put it back up again.

Taglist:

@skiendielific , @burnttoast7272, @feralbamboozle , @meganswhxre , @manonz-manz , @danielasleftpinkytoe0471 @ihighkeylovewomen , @dreamytigerlotus , @jjtheroyal2 , @babyhumanoidpsychicnerd , @avanzinimoon , @crypticvalentine , @themuffinman18

The first time I saw her, I thought love was a punch to the chest. I was wrong. Love is much quieter than that. Love, as I've come to learn, is much harder to hold onto and much harder to walk away from.

It was a busy day. My mind was in a rush, my hands fidgety, my eyes darting everywhere, mapping faces, furniture, energy, anything I could grasp in the physical and emotional storm I had just walked into. I got gently shoved by a shoulder. A hand touched my elbow, urging me to a certain spot. A distant voice murmured directives. At least, they sounded like murmurs to my ears.

We were clustered together. Arranged unceremoniously in no specific pattern. I remember the strange feeling of being puppeteered. I was frozen, a cold sweat breaking as I felt eyes on me, feeling trapped under a gaze that had already judged me. As someone who always picks the back of every room, just to clock everyone's positions, to feel in control, I had never been as afraid as I was at that moment. 

I told myself I was cataloging threats. That's why I noted the way she stood, relaxed but aware. Why I logged the sound of her voice, low and unhurried. Why, when she glanced my way for half a second, my stomach didn't flutter. It assessed. That's what I told myself. 

Although looking back now, I wonder, wouldn't someone assessing a threat hyperanalyze their threat's words?

Later, I would learn, her words were a simple introduction. A name, a city, an interest, a goal. I remember seeing her lips move, her eyes subtly scanning the room as she spoke, her voice simple vibrations in the air. Sound waves that washed away the noise of the room, momentarily leaving nothing but her velvet tone in my mind. 

I never got used to the rush. It was a race. A survival game. A room where you look for a safe corner to hide in, only to realize it is a circle.

Her presence stuck in my mind, not as an interest, but as another opponent in this war. She moved like droplets of morning dew swept by a soft breeze, landing in the crevices of my soul, filling the little spaces with a mist that cools my simmering core.

I watched her deliberately. She was not a friend; she was just a girl who wanted the same prize I was fighting for. She was a wall. An obstacle. A hurdle I was mapping with my unwavering gaze. Until she smiled in my general direction, and my head snapped to the side, blinded by the brightness of her joy. Or maybe I was pretending to look away, not wanting to be labeled a scrutinizer in her book. 

I wondered, why did it matter what she thought of me?

The days we had jokingly called 'survival of the fittest' taught me two things: in wartime, I can have only one of two, a friend or a foe. 

At least, that’s what we were told when we joined this circus. 

That blinding smile flashed behind my eyelid. A friend. I wanted her to be a friend. I wanted to be her ally, her pillar, her unshakeable wall.

But I just stood there. Watching. She laughed at something someone else said, someone who told a joke faster, stood closer, already knew her name. I watched her turn toward them, watched her choose them, watched someone build courage faster than I could. Something twisted. Not jealousy. Just the cold understanding that her time was a currency I hadn't earned.

She didn't owe me her attention. I knew that. But watching her give it away so easily was a different kind of loss, one the Ringmasters never warned me about.

Then I opened my eyes, peeled back the layers of delusion. A new war had already begun. Two fronts now. And on both, I was losing.

I had accepted the fate I never chose. But fate is a funny thing. A turbulent, messy, unpredictable thing. 

I don't remember the final days of the game. I vividly remember the aftermath. 

Suddenly, I had a prize secured in my bag. Suddenly, I was in the limelight I wasn't sure I deserved. Six figures and I stood in a line, bathed with colorful spotlights and showered with praise. Six figures and I, the fittest who survived, given heavy crowns and heavier expectations. It was as if a weight had been lifted, and a bigger one was offloaded on our backs. 

I found myself engulfed for a minute, drowning in the scent of desperation, relief, hope, and floral perfume. Different perfumes. Each one triggered an emotion I was unaware I could feel. But one of them, the faintest one, made my chest go quiet again. Just like her voice had on that very first day.

I found her in the crowd later. She was laughing with two of the other winners, already at home in this newfound 'family'. I wanted to walk over. I wanted to say something, anything, but my feet stayed planted. The same feet that had carried me through the game refused to budge when it mattered most.

Perhaps, she felt someone watching her. She turned. She looked right at me. And smiled. Not in my general direction this time. At me. She moved. I blinked, and there she was, with her magnetic eyes and pretty smile. She opened her mouth and talked. I caught wind of words that sounded dangerously close to 'excited', 'happy', and 'famous'. 

I smiled back, for the first time since she looked at me like I might steal her gold, I smiled back. I murmured an unintelligible "Congratulations. You were... hard competition. I knew you'd make it. Talent like that."

I watched her tilt her head and smile like she knew she had the power to stop the beating of my heart. I wondered then, when did she learn to take up space inside my chest without asking permission?

She breathed in, ready to respond... 

And then we were surrounded. Celebrations. Cheers. Bodies pressing in. Familiar perfumes and old perfumes.

It hit me at that moment. The war wasn't over. It had just changed shape.

Since that day, life ran…different. A constant flood of adrenaline.

It’s like someone put me on a rollercoaster, without a seatbelt, and sent me on an endless ride. 

There wasn’t enough time for me to dwell on what would’ve been her answer. I wonder sometimes, if my honesty was the key that opened up her eyes to my existence, or if it’s simply because we are now…coworkers, so to speak. 

At least she smiled at me, right?

I’ve stood at the edge of her inner circle throughout this war. A shadow. Or a wall, depends on how you look at it. 

Maybe not the wall I wanted to be.

I wanted to be her friend. I wanted to learn her. 

‘But could I?’ I thought. 

‘Could I stand in the face of my demons and ask her how she likes her coffee?’

‘Could I challenge our shared coworkers and snag a seat next to her?’

‘Could I offer to carry her bag when we’re getting out of a car?’ 

I could…But I can’t. I could because I know she is an angel. I can’t because I’m…unprepared. 

If I asked her how she likes her coffee, she’d offer to go with me to grab all seven of us a couple of drinks. 

If I somehow found myself sitting next to her, she’d ask me questions. Get to know me. Answer my questions. Laugh at my dry jokes. 

If I offered to carry her bag, she’d refuse. She’d complain and giggle, refusing to be a burden on someone else. Even though I’d love nothing more than to carry her bag and follow her. 

In my head, I sounded pathetic. Out loud, I sounded crazy. 

But was I crazy when all I wished for was her companionship? 

Funny enough, it was much more difficult to avoid my wishful thinking when she was sitting right in front of me 24/7. 

I used to see her in shared spaces. In competitive rounds. In eliminations. Sometimes on our mutual acquaintances’ ‘close friends’ stories. 

But after the final round, after she became an integrated part of my life, I saw her everywhere. I could not escape her. 

She was everywhere. 

On my mind. 

On my phone. 

At interviews and studio recordings and practice sessions. 

At wardrobe fittings, where I admit I had my very own biased opinions about her appearances. Opinions that I would never dare say aloud. Opinions that perhaps the stylists would disagree with, but I was not to be trusted when she was involved. 

A true war I was fighting. A battle that I couldn’t win no matter how strong my army was. 

My army being my will. And my will…was very, very weak. 

I was not to be blamed. Ask anyone she had ever smiled at. 

I realized that after that fateful day, the day the tides turned, the day everything I’ve known since the beginning of this war flipped upside down, I found myself lost. 

Lost in my own rule book. Lost in my maze of connections. Lost between my heart and my mind. Between what I wanted, and what I could do.  

She consumed me. My mind a hurricane of thoughts. Every single one was about her. 

Until she’s there. Sitting next to me. Breathing the same air. That giggle echoing in my empty head. 

She shut them down. All thoughts of her, she just…turns them off. 

I didn’t know how to handle that fact. I’ve never had anyone have such a paradoxical effect on me. The same thing that runs through my mind can easily make it freeze. 

And it’s embarrassing, really. I was supposed to be more phlegmatic, serene. Speak when spoken to, answer only the question asked, not more, not less. Smile and wave. Do your job. Perform to a T. Earn your place. Day in, day out.

But then she asked me if the color of her shirt clashed with her eyeshadow and I froze, I froze, like some undignified idiot who forgot how to speak. 

I remember thinking ‘fuck, you speak three languages, literally say anything! Hell just nod!’

It took me two whole minutes. A hundred and twenty seconds. Just to end up saying "uhhh no?"

UHHH NO? WHO THE FUCK SAYS THAT!

I do. I did. When my pretty friend asked for my opinion. 

I recalled being labeled ‘The Useless Gay™’ once upon a time. Before all this glitz and glam.

But you know what? I'd do it again. The freeze. The 'uhhh no.' The dumbassery. All of it. Just to have her ask me anything at all. Just to have her laugh. At me. With me. Who cares? She’s laughing. She’s laughing and my heart is trying to leave my ribs. Probably to sit between her palms. 

Huh. 

I’ve never been this attached to a friend. Perhaps I’ve been lonely for too long. Or maybe she’s the perfect friend for me. 

The one thing I pride myself in is my ability to mentally compartmentalize. 

My life is split into cardboard boxes, each one labeled with a thick, black sharpie. 

There’s one for my family. One for my closest friends. One for my high school friends. One for my exes. One for my cat. One for my job, my band mates, my fans etcetera etcetera. 

And one more for…her. With an extra ‘FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE’ sticker on all four sides of the box. 

Why?

Well…I’m not sure. 

The contents of that box in particular are very delicate. In there is where I store anything that includes her or reminds me of her. 

I mean, there’s a cute little beige puppy plushie in the box. Don’t know where that came from. 

And like…a pink hoodie, from that time I learned how to make her favorite pasta when everything was too much. ‘A quick fix,’ she called it. 

And um…the black hair tie I gave her when her hair was getting in the way in practice. 

Oh, and the bracelet she wore in one of our shows, where we debuted a new song, and I had to twirl her. By the waist. Boy was that move a disaster to learn. 

At least we nailed it in that show. 

And every show after. 

There’s also a readymade brownie packet. A new foreign brand we sampled while we were on tour. Just her and me. In my hotel room. On my bed. Eating brownies and talking. 

She was kind enough not to leave crumbs where I sleep. 

The most recent addition is a giggle. The weirdest giggle I’ve ever heard her do. 

We were all hanging out after a recording session, snacking on instant noodles. I had a little avocado keychain sitting in my pocket, an impulse buy from a random souvenir shop. 

Somewhere in the chaos of thirteen different conversations being carried on at once, a feat only seven girls can achieve, I caught her eye. 

She was sitting to my left. Looking all perfect and flawless. Like nothing can touch her. I smiled awkwardly, my fork hanging from my fingers as I immediately glanced back to the nearest conversation for cover. 

The cover fails, because she never looked away. Three heartbeats later, and I was looking at her again. I could never resist her. God she was so perfect. Those thirteen conversations all…muted. They didn’t matter when she looked at me. Nothing ever did. 

I remembered the avocado and dug in my pocket to find it, getting a mini heart attack when my fingers found nothing but air. 

Finally, I grabbed it with shaky fingers and…as usual…grinned awkwardly at her. I extended my hand forward, and she put her palm up. I dropped it in her hand. She stared at it. 

A beat. Then two. 

Then she giggled. My God, she giggled. Loudly. Head thrown back, fork dropped, a snort somewhere in there. So boisterous that the girls stopped to stare at her, a few confused smiles and giggles joining in. 

Until she held up the avocado next to her face, and everyone burst out laughing. 

My grin went from awkward to victorious. 

It took her a solid few seconds to catch her breath. A great loss if you ask me, but then again, I am heavily biased. 

“Girl is that…me?” She said breathlessly, stroking the avocado’s curls. Because yes, I saw an avocado with curly hair and my immediate thought was ‘yes! Perfect gift! That’s how you impress a girl! Buy her an inanimate fruit that looks like her! What a loser!’

But I nodded anyway. Then stopped. Then muttered, “I mean, unless you have a brown pit that can roll.” While twirling a noodle on my own fork. 

And somehow that made the same giggle return, with an extra nose crunch and a dimple. The others laughed and teased me, but I heard absolutely nothing. I was busy internally celebrating. 

I made her giggle. 

HA. Take THAT. 

My relationship with my bandmates is…complicated. 

I’ve come to learn them. Their likes, dislikes, routines, certain tells, you know, things you learn when you live with someone for too long. 

I also learned their coffee orders. Photographic memory, they said. 

They just like being spoiled with free drinks. 

I don’t mind, really. The six of them have carved their ways into all four chambers of my heart, each settling in a corner. Perhaps one took up a little more space than the others, but that’s because she had the advantage of being there first. 

I was getting ready to leave for my hunt when I heard a tumble behind me. I turned around to find a pair of the most breathtaking eyes I had ever had the privilege to look at. The owner of said eyes was standing in front of me, smiling and slightly panting. 

“So…where are we going?” 

Excuse me? WE? 

Cue signature freeze. 

I really do live up to my title ‘The Useless Gay™’. 

Will I ever win this war? 

Unfortunately for me, it would be impolite not to respond. I had to use my words. Oh no. 

“Um…I…we?…are going for a coffee run.” Yes. Full sentence. Thank the lord. 

“Okay!” She smiled, all teeth and dimples. 

Okay??? What now? 

I guess we’re going then. 

“Um…yeah.” I nodded with finality and opened the door, stepping aside for her to walk through first because I wasn’t raised an animal. 

The coffee shop was a ten-minute walk and had almost no wait time at all. It’s one of those hidden gems you randomly find. 

And hey, I liked their decor. Very minimalist with just enough potted plants to look alive. 

We walked in silence. It wasn’t awkward per se, but it also wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable. 

Not because I was uncomfortable around her. In fact, I learned that being in her mere presence dimmed the overwhelming noise and brightened the shadows in the dark corners of my mind. 

But because I felt the need to impress her. Say something smart. Talk about something interesting. Or just form a full sentence without stuttering for once. 

Alas, all my poor brain could do was execute the following actions: A- gently place your hand on her shoulder to move her to the inner part of the sidewalk.  B- match her steps perfectly, not too fast, we are not superior. Not too slow, we are not lazy.  C- do not stare. Do not stare. Do not stare. 

I was too busy executing my three-step survival plan that I almost missed it. 

“Can I ask you a question?” She hummed. 

Well I am fucked. Anyways. 

“Uh yeah.” 

“And you promise to be honest? Like completely? I mean, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…I was just…thinking.” She spoke so nonchalantly, I almost missed the nervous tone. Or maybe it’s the wind. 

I nodded because I couldn’t trust my vocal cords. 

She continued, “So I’ve been thinking…well actually I just wanna know your thoughts on something…”

Honestly? I respect this woman’s ability to stand my awkwardness.

I nodded again, an attempt at encouragement and deflection simultaneously. 

She hesitated, I sweated, then she broke, “Do you think I’m…trying too much? With my face and all?”

Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so glad she can’t read minds because the mental sigh of relief I let out at that moment was so LOUD. 

Then I processed her words. “What?” I spat out. I was honestly confused. What the hell was she talking about?

“I meant that…” she sighed, “the…the fans and everyone. They think I’m too…expressive with my face. Like, I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve been seeing online.” 

D- Please. Please do not embarrass yourself. 

“That is bullshit.” I started. 

Oh no. 

“Who says that kind of crap. What does that even mean?” I felt hot in all the wrong places. I went on a tangent, getting a bit worked up. 

“Why would you even consider the possibility that their opinion is true? It’s just an opinion…it’s not a fact! And- and who the hell are these people to have that opinion, huh? Show me their faces, let’s see if it’s even half as attractive as yours! How abominable! How revolting! I can’t even…”

I pursed my lips, swallowing my words. I peeked at her to see her looking at me with an unreadable expression. Her lips parted. Eyes wide, scanning my face. I looked forward and “…oh. We’re here.” 

Mama loves me.

I hurriedly opened the door and let her in first, trying to direct her attention somewhere else. She blinked twice, stepping into the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop. I followed after her, the smell of ground coffee hitting the right spot in my brain. 

The lady behind the counter greeted me, probably too familiar with my existence at this point. She was nice, and her coffee was immaculate, never a wrong order, so you best bet I will greet her back with enthusiasm. 

The lady took my usual order of seven drinks with the focus of an operator working a high-stakes hacking mission. I paid because mama raised a gentlewoman. 

As we waited for the kind lady to do her magic, I quickly scanned the sweets on display and found something. I eyed the beauty to my left and weighed my options. 

“Um, Dani…would you like a pastry? I won’t tell anyone…it’ll be our little secret.” I stammered a poor attempt at being charming. 

She raised her pinky. “Promise?” 

Oh. 

I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that Thai food yesterday. That was definitely the Thai food. No more Thai for me. 

I stared at her pinky. Then at mine. Then back at hers.

This was fine. This was normal. Friends pinky-promised all the time.

I hooked my pinky around hers. Her skin was warm.

"Promise," I whispered. Then immediately regretted it because my voice came out all wrong. Soft. Like I meant it. Like this moment meant something. 

She grinned. "Good. I want the chocolate one."

For some reason, that coffee run was a turning point. Ever since then, she’s been everywhere. More than she already was. Occupying space- thoughts she had no right to. Stealing my oversized hoodies, which she basically swims in because I’m already a size or two over her. Tall people's problems. Makes shopping impossible. 

She hops on the kitchen counter when I’m cooking something, expecting a spoon to be presented to her so she can taste-test my creations. 

She leans against me during breaks between running routines. I find myself fetching two water bottles instead of one, no longer worried about overstepping with the gesture. 

She teaches me Spanish words, then laughs at my poor pronunciation.

She naps on my shoulder whenever she gets the chance, in car rides, on planes, buses, waiting rooms, dressing rooms, literally any chance she gets. She says my shoulder is the perfect height for her to lean on without straining her neck, which is bullshit since I have at least three inches on her, and I have to slide down my chair a bit for her to reach. But I'll never tell her that. Who am I to complain anyway? 

She taught me her hair care routine, simply because it made her feel adored. Now, every once in a while, she plops down on my bed with a couple of fat tubs and bottles, silently demanding I pamper her. So I scrunch the night away, shaping her curls like there's no tomorrow. It's a privilege. Her words, not mine.

She sneaks into my room when she’s supposed to be asleep, just to talk about dumb things. Pointless conversations. Existential crisis. The future of us. Her past, before the fame, before life on the fast lane. 

The topic never interests me. At least, not as much as hearing her talk. I still stammer around her; that’s an everlasting curse, but I mostly listen and offer feedback when asked. 

I find myself addicted to those memories. Meticulously storing them in that mental cardboard box. Occasionally revisiting them. Just to remind myself that little old me made it. I became one of her best friends. A thought that always shakes me to my core yet keeps me grounded.

I am absolutely, irrevocably, a useless gay. 

It doesn't matter how hard I try to hide it. I will always be that. For as long as those ethereal hazel eyes remain branded onto the back of my eyelids. I also realized that reality will soon catch up with me. 

Too soon if you ask me.

It happens on a random Tuesday. We’re in the back of a cramped van, somewhere on a highway between two city stops. The rest of the girls are knocked out in a tangle of limbs and travel pillows around us. The highway streetlights flash through the tinted windows every three seconds, painting her face in alternating streaks of gold and shadow.

She is currently asleep with her head tucked in my neck and her legs thrown over my lap. Her fingers tightly gripping my arm like she's trying to pin me there, leaving it entirely numb. Ha, as if I'd even think of moving. I'd have to lose that arm first.

My mind is screaming under the pressure of having her wound tightly around me, analyzing the exact angle of her head, the rhythm of her breathing, the sheer danger of this level of proximity.

Yet, my chest is completely quiet. Her scent quieted my thoughts, leaving me in an unmatched state of zen.

This is the part no one warned me about when I made the decision to dance for a living. You can win the game, you can secure the prize, you can build the perfect unshakeable wall to keep everyone out…and then you willingly leave the front gate wide open because she asked you to style her hair.

Silly me, I thought I was being subtle. I found out the hard way that I'm not the only one who thinks I'm becoming soft.

Out of the blue, a sharp, high-pitched buzz cuts through the quiet hum of the tires.

To my right, a silhouette stirs. A phone screen lights up, casting a stark, bluish glow over a groggy face. It’s Sophia. She blinks against the glare, her thumb scrolling lazily for a few seconds before she lets out a quiet sigh and lets her head drop back against the headrest.

She turns her head toward me, her eyes adjusting to the dimness.

"Still awake?" she whispers, her voice raspy from sleep.

"Yeah," I breathe back, barely moving my jaw so I don’t disturb the weight on my lap. "Can't sleep."

"Tsk, poor thing," Sophia murmurs, shifting her legs to avoid tangling with someone else’s travel pillow. "You're still buzzing, huh?" I nod once, humming in agreement. "It’s like the adrenaline from the show never actually leaves your blood."

"Yeah, that happens sometimes." Sophia shifts closer, leaning her elbow on the armrest between our rows, looking out the front windshield at the empty highway ahead. "It’s weird, isn't it? Feels like just yesterday I was sleeping in a trainee dorm, panicking about getting cut. Now we're jumping cities in a van, and our faces are on billboards in the middle of the city we just left."

"Mhm…still feels unreal," I whisper, looking down for a brief second with a small smirk.

As I do, the van hits a slight bump on the road. The cool air from the overhead vent drafts downward, and Dani stirs minutely against my thigh, a tiny crease forming between her eyebrows. Her fingers tighten a fraction more around the fabric of my sweater.

Without thinking, my free hand reaches down. I grab the edge of the kuromi-printed throw blanket I got her and gently pull it up, tucking it snugly around her shoulders, blocking out the draft. I linger for half a second, ensuring the fabric covers her arms properly, before resting my hand back on the seat.

When I look back up, Sophia isn't looking at the highway anymore.

She’s looking at me.

The blue glow of her phone is gone, but the passing streetlights catch the slow, knowing curve of her lips. 

"You know," Sophia hums, her voice dropping an octave lower, practically a whisper, "for someone who looks like they want to punch a wall every time I look at you, you’re surprisingly domestic."

My internal alarms go off all at once. Code Red. I repeat, code red. This is not a drill.

"Ehem. Uhm. She was shivering," I say, my voice flat, aiming - and failing miserably - for that serene, phlegmatic tone I’m supposed to possess. "Hypothermia lowers performance levels. I’m protecting our brand."

Sophia lets out a muffled, silent laugh, burying her face in her hand for a split second so she doesn't wake the others. When she looks back, her eyes are sparkling with pure mischief.

"Right. The brand. Of course," she whispers, prodding my shoulder lightly with her finger. "Is that why you let her steal your favorite hoodies, too? Because of the thermostat in the practice rooms?"

Crap. CrapCrapCrapCrap-

"The hoodies are oversized. They provide warmth. Optimal temperatures for a main dancer."

"Uh-huh." Sophia leans back, her grin widening. "And the fact that you always slide a good four inches down your seat just so her neck wouldn't get strained? Is that a team strategy, too, Captain?"

I stare straight ahead, my jaw locked, refusing to break under interrogation. Fuuuuuck. She noticed the chair thing. 

"I was adjusting my posture," I mutter. "For my lower back."

"You're a terrible liar," Sophia whispers, her tone turning softer, losing the sharp edge of the tease but keeping all of the warmth. She looks down at Dani, who has completely settled again, her face soft and relaxed in her sleep. "But it's sweet. Really. The way you know just what she needs. It’s nice seeing the unshakeable wall actually take care of someone."

My heart does a weird, heavy thud against my ribs. I look down at the pretty Latina snoozing away in my lap, then back to Sophia.

"We're just best friends," I say. 

It's not the first time I've spoken those words out loud. In fact, I usually revel in them, but for some reason, the words feel heavy this time. Like a weight settled on my shoulders.

Sophia just stares at me for a long moment, the amusement in her eyes shifting into something a little more perceptive, a little more knowing. She reaches over, taps my knee gently, and settles back in her seat.

"Whatever you say," she murmurs, closing her eyes and resting her head against the window. "Just don't let your arm fall off before the morning rehearsal."

The van rolls on into the dark, leaving me alone with the quiet, the numbness in my arm, and the sudden, terrifying realization that…I'm not as slick as I thought I was.

That conversation with Sophia looped in my head for hours. I haven't slept a wink. Any hopes of catching a single Z flew out the window. The cogs turning in my head, over and over.

If Sophia noticed, what if the girls did too?

What if Daniela did? 

Oh no. Oh no no no no. If Dani noticed…

No. I don't think she suspects anything. She would've said something, right? Or thrown a hint here or there. 

But she doesn't. I need to make sure she doesn't.

Ok, new plan. Operation: Absolute Professionalism.

Phase 1- Stop acting like a human mattress. Phase 2- Keep a mandatory two-foot radius of personal space. Phase 3- Treat her exactly like I treat the other five. No special water bottles. No extra attention. Strictly business.

It was a foolproof plan. A masterpiece.

Except I forgot to consider the fact that I, a fully grown adult with free will, refused to move an inch, just so a pretty girl could sleep peacefully on me. By the time we reached our destination, my left arm was so profoundly dead that it felt like a heavy, useless piece of overcooked pasta hanging from my shoulder. I sacrificed an arm and my sleep for her. Just…Daniela Avanzini.

When Dani finally blinked open those hazel eyes, stretching her arms above her head with a soft, sleepy yawn that should honestly be classified as a weapon of mass destruction, I couldn't even help her up. I just sat there, my face frozen in a grimace of pure agony, staring straight ahead as the rest of the girls groggily grabbed their bags.

Sophia stood up, throwing me a look of such immense, unadulterated amusement as she moved to descend the van that I wanted to launch my travel pillow at her head.

"Morning, Captain," Sophia chimed breezily, her eyes dropping to my limp arm. "Nice posture."

"Shut up," I grunted, trying to nudge Dani off my lap with my working right limb without looking like a total jerk.

Dani blinked up at me, her curls a wild, beautiful mess around her face, entirely oblivious to the sirens currently bouncing around my skull. "Are you okay? Your face is red."

"Fine! Perfectly fine! Ready to perform to a T!" I stammered, scrambling out of the seat the second Daniela moved out of the way, actively executing Phase 2. Two feet of space. Mandatory.

I didn't carry her bag. I didn't hold the hotel elevator door for her. I stood in the corner of the lift, staring at the digital floor numbers like they held the secrets to the universe, ignoring the slight, confused pout she threw in my direction.

See? I told myself. Slick. You are a vault. An unshakeable wall.

A couple of hours of restless sleep later, we were standing under the brutal, unforgiving fluorescent lights of the rehearsal studio.

Our track was blasting through the massive speakers, the music vibrating through the floorboards. We were running choreos for some of our old and new releases, a series of high-energy routines where every movement had to be sharp, synchronized, and aggressive.

This was my element. When I’m dancing, the hurricane in my mind usually shuts off. I don't have to think about eyes, or smiles, or the way someone looks in an oversized pink hoodie. I just have to execute.

Until we reached THAT song. The one with the twirl.

After the formation shifts, I'm supposed to step forward, catch Dani by the waist, and twirl her into the center line.

Phase 3, my brain screamed as she spun toward me. Strictly business. Just a bandmate. Don't fuck it up.

I stepped in. My hand went to her hip- but instead of the firm, supportive grip I usually gave her, the one that kept her perfectly balanced every single time, I kept my palm completely flat, barely brushing the fabric of her crop top, trying desperately to minimize contact.

It was a disaster.

Without my usual leverage, her center of gravity wavered. Her foot caught on the edge of her sneaker, and she stumbled, her shoulder colliding heavily into my chest as the music continued to blast through the giant speaker.

"Cut! Cut!" the director yelled over the microphone, the music cutting out into an echoing silence. "Girls, what was that? Your timing was off. Let's fix the grip on the transition. Again!"

The other girls took a collective breath, stepping back into their starting positions. But Dani didn't move.

She stayed right in front of me, panting slightly from the cardio, her hazel eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my entire plan completely crash. The soft, sleepy girl from the van was gone; this was the main dancer. The girl who fought through the same war I did.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice low enough that only I could hear it over the murmurs in the back.

"Adjusting my grip," I muttered, looking anywhere but her face. "Trying a lighter touch for more fluid motion."

"Bullshit," Dani whispered, stepping closer, completely obliterating my mandatory two-foot radius. "You didn't even grab me. You're acting like I'm covered in spikes. Did I do something?"

Breathe. Please breathe. Please do not collapse right now.

"No," I said, my voice cracking slightly before I forced it back into a flat line. "You're fine. We're fine. Just… focusing on the performance."

Dani tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as she scanned my face, looking for the tell she always seemed to find. Then, her expression softened, a tiny dimple peeking out on her left cheek.

"Okay," she mumbled, "just try not to break my legs while you're being creative."

I freeze, eyes wide at her words. Is she crazy? I'll get fired! If they fire me, I'll never see her again!

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry," I break, unable to stay stoic when she looks at me like that. "I'm- I'll fix it."

"Right," she huffed. She reached out, her fingers brushing against my wrist for a split second before she turned back to the formation line. "Grab my waist properly next time, cabrona. I don't like falling."

I stood there, my army completely defeated, my rule book set on fire. My brain stuck in statics. Cabrona.

Sophia caught my eye from across the room, raising her eyebrows with a look that said: What the hell is wrong with you?

I don't know woman. I don't know. Just end me right here.

The music started again. Dani was already in position, her back to me, waiting.

I stepped forward. This time, I didn't think. I just grabbed her. Firm, steady, the way she needed.

She didn't stumble. She spun perfectly, her hair fanning out, and when she landed, she glanced back at me. Just for a second.

Her lips moved. No sound. I just nodded dumbly, unable to hear anything over the sound of blood rushing to my ears.

A break was called soon after. Sophia magically appeared at my elbow. "You're staring."

"I'm not."

"Liar." Manon threw over her shoulder as she passed by. I gape at her, turning to Sophia to see if she heard Manon too, or if I was imagining it.

Sophia was smirking at me. "Don't look at me like that."

I roll my eyes, not having the energy to argue.

So…Manon knows too.

I gulp, the room feeling stuffy, suffocating me. I spin around and leave Sophia in the dust. I walk towards the elevator, my hand reaching for the panel when a 'hey!' sounds from behind. I spin and find…

Fucking hell, woman. Daniela Andrea Avanzini Lorente. I swear to-

"Hey Dani," I plaster a smile on my face, one that turns into a real smile when hers stretches wide, teeth and sunshine and all. Pathetic. If my mama saw me, she'd whack me for being so weak.

"Coffee run?" She asks as I press the arrow down. I mumble a small, "No. Just going for a walk. Fresh air and all."

She looks away for a second, then asks, "Do you mind if I join?"

Eeeeeehhhhhhh say no, I dare you.

The elevator dings and the doors open. I hold it for her to step in first, quickly schooling my face when I realized I just gave her 'please marry me' eyes. So much for a foolproof plan.

We walk in silence, basking in the afternoon breeze. I didn't realize so much time had passed in the studio. I'm so deep in my thoughts, recalling the day when something soft lingers against the back of my hand. I look down and find the back of her right hand grazing against mine. I peeked at her face to find her staring straight ahead, looking unbothered.

Should I do it? What happens if I do? Will she hate me? Will she think I'm weird? Or worse, will she think this is completely platonic and not care?

I want to hold her hand. I want it so bad. But we're just friends. Best friends. I'm not even her type. It's not like I'm the only one she's close to, too. She hugs all the girls like that.

'It's not like I'm the only one who wants to hold her hand', I think bitterly.

I feel something crawl up my chest. Like my stomach blew up and burned my insides. Fuck.

Dani's hand brushed mine again. This time, I didn't look down. I just… let it happen. Let my pinky drift, just a fraction, toward hers.

She didn't pull away.

My heart stopped. Then restarted at twice the speed.

"You're quiet," Dani said, still not looking at me.

"Thinking," I managed.

"About what?"

About how your skin feels against mine. About how much I want you. About whether you'd scream or laugh or cry if I told you the truth. About how I'm going to survive the next five minutes without doing something stupid.

"Choreography," I lied.

I feel her slow to a stop.

I stop a single step after, because my body apparently responds to her before my brain can process.

She turned to face me, her head tilted, those hazel eyes searching my face in that way that always made me feel like she could see straight through every wall I'd ever built.

"Don't lie to me," she said. Not mean. Just…sad. Offended. A small, soft smile played at the corner of her lips. "Do you think I'm that clueless?"

My heart dropped to my ass. What. The. Fuck. I opened my mouth to say something. Anything. Nothing came out.

She stepped closer. The two-foot radius was dead. Murdered. Gone.

Her scent invades my senses. She smells like heaven, if heaven smelled like her perfume and body spray, and a bit of clean sweat from the intense six-hour dancing session we just did.

"Is it really so hard," she asked quietly, "to just tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

Yes. It's impossible. Because if I tell you, everything changes. Or nothing changes, and that would be worse.

"I don't know what you mean," I finally whispered.

Dani's hand found mine. Not brushing this time, but fully holding it. Her perfectly manicured fingers laced through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Liar," she said. But her voice was warm. Her thumb traced a small circle on the back of my hand.

Why is everyone calling me a liar today?

"You don't have to say it," she added, so quiet I almost missed it. "Not yet. But… don't hide from me. Okay? I hate it when you hide."

I stared at our intertwined fingers. At how perfectly they fit. Oh, if only.

"Okay," I breathed.

She smiled, that real, crinkly-eyed smile that picked me apart and put me back together, and squeezed my hand once before letting go.

"Good. Now get me a snack, I'm hungry and tired of your brooding."

And just like that, she started walking again, leaving me frozen on the sidewalk, my hand still tingling, my chest a mess of terror and hope.

We got back from our snack run to find everyone waiting for us. It was weirdly funny, watching their eyes follow us all the way from the door to our spots.

The rest of the practice is a test of my endurance. Every time I look at her, she looks back. Every move she makes, I stare, hypnotized by the way she moves. Even the furrow of her brows is perfection. I mentally thank her mother for gifting us with a miracle, smiling at my ridiculous thoughts.

One chance. Just one chance.

After the session ends, Sophia pulls me aside. "You sneaky bitch, what did you guys do?"

I flick her forehead, drawing out a "Nothing" to hide my grin. She eyes me and opens her mouth to rip me a new one, before a giggly "Liar" sounds from our left. I jump at Megan's jab, thankful my eyes can't set her on fire with how hard I glare.

"Not you too…" I run my hand down my face, exasperated at how fucking exposed I felt. "What is wrong with you people today? Is it 'bully the giant' day today?"

The two chuckle, side-eyeing each other while I drown in my misery.

"Nooo…you're just extra…you, today," Megan admits, like it's a top secret she's been trying so hard to keep.

I bristle, "Excuse me?"

Megan grins, undeterred. "You know what I mean. You're all smiley. Did something happen on your walk?"

My face? Hot. Flaming. On fire. Call 911. "No."

Sophia snorts. "She flicked me and then smiled about it. She's so lying."

"I smiled because I flicked you," I say. "It was satisfying."

"Mmhm." Sophia crosses her arms. "And the staring? Was that satisfying too?"

I freeze. "What staring? I'm not staring." I chuckle nervously, attempting to deflect.

Manon's hand snakes around my torso in a side hug, "Aw, come on, you were eyeing her like she's your salvation." The two nod in agreement.

FUCK. This is next-level embarrassing. "You saw that?"

"We all saw that," Megan says cheerfully.

I need to move to a different planet.

Before I can start planning a new identity, a familiar voice cuts through my spiral.

"What's so funny?"

I whip around. Dani is standing there, water bottle in hand, head tilted, looking between the four of us with curious eyes. Her gaze lingers on me for a second longer than the rest.

My soul leaves my body.

"Nothing!" I say. Too fast. Too loud.

Sophia saves me…sort of. "We were just teasing the Captain about her dance face. Very intense today. Very… focused."

Manon nods, her arm still around me. "Yeah. She's been staring at the mirror like it owes her money."

I could kiss them. I could also strangle them. The line is blurry.

Dani's eyes flick to me. A small smile plays on her lips. "Oh yeah? Focused on what?"

My brain blanks. "Choreography," I manage. "Just…counting the steps. In my head."

"Mmhm." Dani takes a sip of her water, not breaking eye contact. "You should probably watch your feet, then. You almost tripped over the speaker cable twice."

Megan snorts. Sophia buries her face in her hand. I feel my entire face ignite.

"That was on purpose…" I grumble, almost pouting. Almost.

Dani's smile widens. "Sure." She turns to the others. "Anyway, I'm heading out. You coming?" She glances back at me.

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

"She'll meet you there," Sophia says, shoving me forward. "She just needs to grab her bag."

Dani nods, already walking toward the door. "Don't take too long."

And then she's gone.

I round on Sophia. "What the hell Soph-"

"You're welcome." She grins. "Now go. Before she changes her mind."

My feet are already moving.

I'm so, so screwed.

Months later, we're back in LA. The tour is over. So many billboards with our faces on them, which still makes me do a double-take every time I drive past one.

You'd think the chaos would have settled by now. It hasn't. If anything, life has gotten louder. More interviews, more photo shoots, more talk show appearances where I have to pretend I'm not constantly aware of exactly where Dani is standing and how out-of-this-world she looks.

But there are quiet moments, too. Moments I store in my mental cardboard box, the one dedicated to her, the one that only ever seems to grow, bigger than any other box. I store the ones between the noise. Late nights in the studio when everyone else has gone home. Early mornings at the dorm when the sun is barely up and she's still in her pajamas, hair a mess, squinting at her phone.

That's where I notice it.

She's texting someone. A lot.

More than usual.

At first, I don't think anything of it. Dani has friends. Family. A whole life outside of Katseye. But then I catch the smile. The small, private one she gets when her phone buzzes and her eyes flick to the screen.

It's not the same smile she gives me, or any of our bandmates. This one is softer. Quieter. Like a secret she's keeping from the world.

I tell myself I'm imagining things.

Then I see a name. A name that circles around TikTok and gossip accounts. A name that I see on her phone- accidentally, of course, because I'm not that kind of person.

Jonah.

My stomach drops. My heart clenches. My throat closes. My eyes burn.

I get restless, fidgety, snappy. I become somewhat of an asshole, and I'm not proud of it. I hate it. I hate the clipped answers I give her. I hate not being near her, or holding her hand, or carrying her bag, or making her laugh with my dry humor.

She's sitting across from me on the couch, scrolling through her messages, and I'm pretending to watch a show while my eyes keep drifting to her screen like a traitor.

Jonah. Jonah. Jonah.

Her phone keeps pinging with a new text.

She grins. Types back. Laughs under her breath.

I feel something hot crawl up my chest. The same thing I felt that day on the sidewalk when I thought about someone else holding her hand. The same thing I feel every time someone gets too close to her.

Jealousy. Actual, ugly, irrational jealousy.

Fuck.

I don't even know what she likes. We've never talked about it. I've never asked, because asking would mean admitting why I want to know, and I'm not ready for that conversation. I'd rather swim in a pool of jellyfish than ask her that question.

But if I had to guess, based on the way she's smiling at her phone right now, I'd say Jonah is more than a friend.

And I'm just… here.

A best friend. A bandmate. A useless gay who can't even hold eye contact without combusting.

I should give up. I should accept that I missed my chance, assuming I ever had one. I should focus on the music, on the job, on literally anything else.

But I can't.

Because every time she laughs at something Jonah said, I want to be the one making her laugh. Every time she types back too fast, I want to be the reason her thumbs can't keep up.

So I do the only thing I can.

I try harder.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing embarrassing. Just… small things.

I bring her coffee before she asks, and if I'm feeling extra, I have it waiting for her every morning.

I offer to drive her around to her destinations, calling her my passenger princess, which, kudos to me, makes her blush and giggle. I pretend it's on my way. It's almost always not. I add twenty minutes to my commute and don't say a word.

I start leaving little notes on her mirror. Dumb things.

You're gonna kill it today.

Don't forget to hydrate.

Your hair looks nice.

That new lipstick is doing things. (That one I almost didn't leave. I left it anyway.)

She smiles at the notes. Tucks them into the edge of her mirror like they're keepsakes.

I ambush her more often, offering to do her hair routine and adding an extra massage here and there.

I take her on what could pass as a date or an outing. A lunch, a nail appointment, a shopping spree, a brunch with friends.

Once, I got her flowers. When she asked why, I said, "Just because."

It took me a long time, but I started to initiate touch instead of just receiving it from her.

The girls noticed, of course. They grilled me about it. A wink here, a jab there. But under all the teasing, I feel the support. They're silently rooting for me.

Lara corners me in the kitchen, urging me to confess, or at least make it clearer.

"I know it's hard. I know you're scared. But if you don't make a move now, you're gonna lose your chance. She won't be available forever, you know?"

I swallow thickly, tears brimming in my eyes, "I know that, Lara. But what if she's…not into me? I don't want to lose what we already have."

Lara grabs my shoulders, trying to physically shake some sense into me, "You're not gonna know unless you ask! Or at least try! But don't fumble just because you're worried. You love her, right?" I nod.

I admit it. I love her. I’m in love with her. "I love her, Lara." My voice cracks, a tear escaping, no matter how hard I tried.

"Then go get her." The finality in her tone is the sledgehammer to the last wall.

I know I can't keep hiding forever. And I know that every time she looks at me, my heart flutters the way it always has. I know she'll always have a hold on me. Always. Even if I lose her to him.

But I don't want to live like that. I don't want to know what it's like. I want her. In my life, and every life I'll ever live.

So I start planning. Quietly. Awkwardly. Pathetically.

Because the alternative is doing nothing, and I've done nothing for too long.

I'm not about to just sit there and watch someone take her away from me.

Not her. Not my Dani.