The truck smelled like sweat and old pine air freshener. The kind that barely covered up anything but made you think it did if you didn't breathe too hard. Abigail tapped her fingers against the wheel, her grip too tight, her pulse too loud. Her companion sat in the passenger seat, humming some song under her breath, watching the fields roll by like it was just another ride with her best friend.

Best friend. God, she was sick of those words.

Her companion questioned Abigail on "the big plan" before making a playful comment about whether Abigail was planning to murder her or something.

Abigail snorted, shifting in her seat. "Yeah, totally. Figured if I'm gonna confess to murder, I might as well do it on Valentine's Day. Real poetic."

Her companion laughed, rolling the window down a little. The wind tangled through her hair, lifting the strands, making her look even softer than she already did. Abigail swallowed hard.

She drove past the last streetlight marking the town's edge. The sun had started dipping, casting long, golden streaks over the fields. It was pretty. Pretty enough that Abigail could pretend this wasn't some half-baked plan to make her see differently.

They pulled off onto a dirt road, leading out to the outskirts where no one would bother them. Just the two of them. No town, no parents, no expectations.

"This is...kinda creepy, actually," Abigail heard her joke, but there was something a little unsure in her voice.

Abigail forced a smirk. "Nah, you're safe. You got me."

There was a pause. Her companion turned toward her, eyes sharp, searching.

"That's what I wanted to talk about," Abigail admitted, rubbing her hands against her jeans. The fabric was rough, worn down from too many days in the field. Nothing soft about her. "You ever think about what we are?"

Her companion blinked.

"I mean, what are we?" Abigail pressed, her voice edging too close to desperate. "Best friends? Friends? Girlfriends? Or—" she let out a bitter laugh, looking away, "—or am I just your 'butch best friend?'"

She didn't mean to say that last part. She really didn't.

Her companion's breath hitched, a soft "Abby—" leaving her lips.

And suddenly, Abigail's arms were bracing on either side of her, pressing her back against the car door. Not in a violent way. Not in a way that was supposed to be scary. But it was, wasn't it? The fog on the glass, the heat from her own skin, the way her companion's eyes widened like she was something unpredictable.

Shit. Shit.

She should stop. She knows she should stop.

But she can't.

"Just tell me," she whispered, voice wrecked, shaking. "What are we?"

And the silence that followed was the loudest thing she'd ever heard.