Zara #2
“Oh my God, yes!” I blurt excitedly, straightening. “It’s happening.”
On screen, my character leans into Halsin. The dialogue gets… suggestive.
Cass makes a strangled noise. “You’re such a perv.”
“Oh please.” I shove his shoulder with mine. “It’s pixel sex. Calm down. It’s not like I’m about to start—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” he cuts in, eyes wide.
I grin wickedly. “You’re right. I shouldn’t say ‘mastur—’”
He claps a hand over my mouth, face bright red. “Zara. I swear to God.”
I lick his palm.
He jerks his hand back with a disgusted groan. “You’re feral.”
“And you chose me as a friend,” I remind him cheerfully. “You did this to yourself.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. That quiet little half-smile that always makes my chest feel weird.
We keep playing until the cutscene ends and the game dumps us back into post-sex dialog. I tease him about being jealous of my fictional bear boyfriend. He denies it too quickly.
Eventually, the controller gets heavy in my hands. My body sinks lower against the bed. The pizza is gone, the soda is lukewarm, the room is dim except for the flicker of the TV.
“Hey,” I say quietly, eyes still on the screen. “How’s Stacey?”
I have to bring her up to remind myself he’s taken. That the line is there and it’s as solid as a wall.
Don’t cross it.
He exhales, long and slow. “I think she’s taking space?”
I blink, turning my head to look at him. “You think? I feel like this is something you should know.”
He stares at the floor. “She texted that she needed time to ‘evaluate the situation.’” He air-quotes with his fingers. “Then she stopped answering.”
“Oh.” The word lands heavy in my mouth. “That sounds like her.”
He shrugs, eyes hard. “She’s still pissed that I skipped her brunch to help you move in.”
Guilt twists in my gut because we’ve been here before. A few too many times. I’ve watched this loop. They fight, he feels guilty, then he tries to split himself in half and somehow make everyone happy.
“Cass.” I call his name softly, the controller forgotten in my lap. “If your girlfriend says she’s taking space, you should know for sure if you’re still together. You can’t just float in relationship limbo.”
His mouth tugs, like he’s fighting a frown. “You on her side now?”
“Um. Excuse you, but I’m always on your side. That’s the point. You don’t deserve to be stressed out all the time. And you definitely don’t deserve to be made to feel like shit for having a best friend.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I pick at the cardboard edge of the pizza box, chewing my lip. “But also… if she matters to you, you probably shouldn’t let this drag on. You should talk to her. Get an actual answer. Space is one thing. Invisible breakup is another.”
He finally looks at me. His eyes are tired, and I don’t like it.
“I hate that she makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong just by existing in my life,” I add quietly. “But I also don’t wanna be the reason you lose her if you actually care about her.”
It’s the thing that’s been gnawing at me since he told me he got a girlfriend last year.
He huffs a humorless laugh and flops onto his back on the floor, arms thrown out dramatically. “You’re not the reason.”
“Try telling her that.”
“I have.” He stares at the ceiling. “Doesn’t matter. In her head, you’re the problem.”
I swallow. It stings, even though I’m not surprised. I tip my head back against the bed, staring up too. The game menu music loops softly in the background.
“I’m pretty sure this is the part where people spiral and say the wrong thing.”
“Lucky for us, you already say the wrong thing constantly,” he mutters.
I gasp, nudging his ribs with my toes. “Wow. Rude.”
He catches my ankle gently. “Tell the truth and they call you rude. Unbelievable.”
I stick my tongue out at him. He squeezes, making me yelp before he lets go. The mood shifts easily, lightening enough for me to exhale.
He pushes himself up suddenly. For a second I think he’s going to stand, but instead he twists and flops backward onto the bed, landing with a soft oof.
The mattress creaks under him like always when he doesn’t lay in his exact spot.
“Well,” he starts, staring at the ceiling. “My back is dead. I’m declaring floor time over.”
I snort, rolling my head to look at him. “You’re so old.”
“You’re, like, eleven,” he retorts. “Get up here before you fuse to the carpet.”
The invitation is casual, because we’ve done this a thousand times. But never like this, when he has a maybe-girlfriend and I have all this weirdness in my chest.
Stop it, Zara.
Still, I crawl up, abandoning my controller on the floor. The bed dips under my weight, and I flop down beside him on top of the comforter, leaving a safe gap between us as I fold my arms over my stomach.
He reaches over without looking and yoinks my phone from where it landed.
“Hey,” I protest weakly. “Boundaries.”
“We’re past those,” he deadpans, unlocking it with insulting ease because he knows my passcode. “Pick a song, DJ Sunshine.”
He scrolls my playlist, brow furrowed. “What’s one I won’t want to stab my ears out to?”
“I take offense to that,” I pout. “Put on ‘Like Real People Do.’”
He pauses, staring up from the screen for a second to give me a look of horrid disappointment. “Hozier? Seriously?”