𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞

I care for you still,
and I will forever,
that was part of the deal, honest
-Frank Ocean

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

I return to my cocoon after work. The room is empty, but I have Damon and Stefan, my miniature-pixelated boyfriends. The sun sets, and the only light is from the glow of the laptop. I pull the blankets over my head, start another episode and then another. I decide Frankie was right, team Damon is the better choice.

It seems so obvious from where I'm sitting.

I wonder if that's how Tenny felt, about us. Back then, when I was too stubborn and too drunk to realize it myself. I wonder if he feels that way, still. But he's too wounded to say something. I picture myself walking down the hall, finding him in his dorm room with his nose in a book. I wonder if it's too late for us, now, and then I decide that it is.

The door flies open, and Frankie comes crashing in. But her nose is red and her eyes are watery. Her face crumbles when she sees me. "He broke up with me—Andres, he said he couldn't be with me, anymore."

"Oh, Frank." I throw back the covers and open up my arms. She crawls in beside me, sniffles. I wrap my arms around her, like she had done for me, and I stroke her wild curls. "It's going to be okay, I'm here."

I press play on the laptop, and we mend our heartbreak with vampires until the sun begins to rise. It's four in the morning when Frankie speaks again. Her tears have ran out, and her face is all sticky. She rolls onto her back, and we stare at the ceiling.

"He thinks I'm in love with someone else—that's what he said. What kind of a line is that?" she says, and I shake my head. "And the best part? He thinks it's Khalil. Like, how could he think that I still have feelings for Khalil?"

"Well, do you?"

Frankie sits up. "Of course not! That's ridiculous." She runs a hand over her hair. "I mean, he's dating Talia, and Khalil is a total idiot, anyway."

"Yeah, I agree—I mean, he fumbled you. That definitely makes him an idiot."

She flops back down to our pillow. "Exactly," she says. "The biggest idiot."

"Andres was probably just scared," I suggest. "He probably said whatever he thought would push you away—whatever would upset you the most, you know?"

"Do you think?"

I shrug. It's what I did, to Tenny. "It's possible."

She groans "I hate men. I mean it, after this it is solely women, for me—and fictional men. They can stay, too." Frankie picks up the laptop, and we watch three straight seasons. Our bodies begin to mold into the mattress, and it seems entirely probable that we will never move from this bed, again.

It seems like we've managed to waste our entire weekend without a single human interaction, aside from each other. But then there's a knock at the door. Frankie groans. "Come in!" she shouts, and I whine.

A head pops inside, a dozen tiny braids. "Khalil?" Frankie shoots up. She's brushing a hand over her hair, wiping popcorn salt from her face. "Uh, what are you doing here?"

"I heard this room could use a pick-me-up." He flashes a smile. "You all want to go to the Union, play some table tennis? We could swing by Tipper's or just get some fresh air? You two are in serious need of some air..."

I look at Frankie. She looks at me. I'm pleading no—she's searching for a go ahead.

I sigh. "Go, Frankie, you could use a break from me."