Chapter 6

COVA

House of unhinged

Mattyoso i'm hanging w the girl from my barista erabut she's bringing a friendand i'm not tryna third wheel the entire day

Chriswait u have a girl?

NickHE DOES AND SHE'S HOTalso she makes chai like a potion

Mattchill.anywaydouble hang? you and cova?

Chrisyea we're down

Covai will cancel my entire existence for a beach picnic

🧡

CHRIS

Matt's girl, Lyra, is sweet and soft-spoken, all freckles and poetry girl energy.

Her friend?

Her friend is trouble.

Ivy.

Ivy is tall, funny, confident, and exactly the type of girl Cova turns into a giggling wreck around.And I'm trying to be cool about it. I am.But then Ivy says something about astrology and Cova full-body gasps like she's been waiting her whole life to talk about this.

And then they're sitting cross-legged in the sand, knees touching, laughing at inside jokes they made ten minutes ago, and I'm just sitting here with an entire bag of grapes in my lap, witnessing my worst-case scenario.

Matt, sitting beside me, glances over and mutters, "You're making the grapes look like a stress snack."

I glare. "She's not even into her. She's just being friendly."

"She's always friendly," Matt says calmly. "But this? This is next level."

Cova throws her head back laughing, her hand resting on Ivy's arm.

I shove a grape in my mouth and chew like I'm punishing it.

🧡

Cova

"Ivy is literally so pretty it's unfair," I say for maybe the fifth time, propping my feet up on the dashboard and sipping my coconut water like a menace.

Chris is driving, jaw tight, sunglasses on, not looking at me.

"She had that whole, like, cool older sister vibe, y'know? Like, you know her playlists are good and she probably gives excellent breakup advice."

Chris doesn't respond immediately. Just taps the steering wheel twice.

"You're really into her, huh?" he says finally. Light voice. Neutral. Too neutral.

I glance at him sideways. "What?"

He shrugs. "Just- seems like you two vibed. A lot."

I blink, then laugh. "Chris. No. She was cool and hot, yeah, but like...you know me."

He doesn't say anything.

So I poke his arm. "What? Are you jealous?"

He finally glances at me, smirking just barely. "I'm just wondering when you're gonna make your own dating app called 'Pretty People Who Make Cova Panic.'"

I grin, but something about the tension in his jaw sticks with me.

🧡

LATER

We always brush our teeth together. It's one of our weird roommate rituals: minty flossed silence, occasional dance moves, sometimes deep life talks with foam in our mouths. That and we share a bathroom so

Tonight, I'm halfway through brushing when I say, "Ivy seriously looked like she stepped out of a sapphire skincare commercial."

Chris says nothing, aggressively brushing like he's mad at his molars.

I pause, spit, glance at him in the mirror. "Dude. Are you mad at me or my dental hygiene?"

He leans over the sink, rinses, and finally meets my eyes.

"I'm not mad," he says. Calm. Too calm.

"...You're jealous," I say, wide-eyed.

"No, I'm not."

"You so are."

"I'm not jealous."

"Then why do you look like you're about to interrogate your toothbrush for crimes against humanity?"

He sighs. Low. Frustrated. Honest.

"It's not her," he says quietly. "It's just every time you meet someone new, I remember that you could choose anyone. Like, literally anyone. And sometimes I wonder how long I'll be lucky enough to keep being your favorite."

That shuts me up.

My heart cracks open a little.

I turn to him, toothbrush still in hand, voice soft. "Chris. You're not my favorite by accident."

He looks at me.

So I step forward, still barefoot in my sleep shorts, and gently flick his cheek with my free hand. "You really think a random hot girl with cool rings could replace you?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "You've said weirder things."

"I have, but that's beside the point."

I set the toothbrush down, grab the hem of his hoodie, and lean my forehead against his chest.

"She was pretty," I mumble. "But you're home."

Chris goes still.

Totally still.

Then his arms wrap around me slowly, like he's scared I'll disappear.

"You always say stuff like that," he says into my hair. "And you never realize what it does to me."

I close my eyes.

"I do," I whisper.

And for a second, the air changes. Everything gets quiet, and close, and maybe just maybe we're on the edge of something finally shifting.

But then I pull back and grin, poking his stomach. "Now go floss, you emotionally constipated golden retriever."

He snorts, shaking his head, tension dissolving.

"You're literally the worst."

"And your favorite," I sing-song.

"Yeah," he mutters, glancing down at me like he wants to say more."Yeah, you are."