I groan into my pillow, clutching at my stomach as another cramp twists through me. I don't even think — I just grab my phone and text Ridley.

-"Kill me. Please. Or bring chocolate. Either works."

Not even five minutes later, there's a sharp knock at the door, followed by Ridley's voice:

"Death delivery or chocolate fairy? You get one, pick wisely."

I manage a weak laugh and call out for her to come in. Ridley enters, arms loaded — a heating pad, a ridiculous amount of snacks, two different types of painkillers, and even a stupidly soft blanket that she must've stolen from her own bed.

"Someone's dramatic. You could've just asked me to come over instead of threatening death. But hey—" she tosses the chocolate bar onto the bed "—I aim to please."

She says it with her usual sarcastic bite, but there's a softness in her eyes as she kneels by the bed, already plugging in the heating pad and shoving it gently into my hands.

"Can't have you suffering. I kinda like you alive and annoying."

Our eyes meet for a beat too long. My heart stumbles in my chest, and Ridley's smirk falters just for a second before she quickly looks away, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over me with more force than necessary.

"Warm up, dumbass."

I smile despite the pain, letting myself sink into the warmth, feeling ridiculously touched.

"You always take care of me like this. Almost like you... I dunno. Care or something."

Ridley snorts, but her ears turn a little pink.

"Pfft. Don't get used to it. You're just my favorite burden. That's all."

A pause, quieter:

"My... very favorite."

The room goes quiet again, thick with something unspoken. I shift under the blanket, heart pounding, and Ridley looks like she's this close to saying something real.

But instead, she flops onto the bed next to me, our shoulders brushing.

"Guess I'm stuck here now. Gotta supervise. Make sure you don't die on me." she nudges me lightly "Not until I get my 'best friend of the year' award."

Our eyes lock again — too close now — and the air feels electric. Neither pulls away.

"Best friend, huh?"

Ridley's smirk wobbles, her voice dropping.

"...Yeah. For now."

The words hang heavy between us. Neither dares to make the next move. The tension coils tighter, almost unbearable — but both too stubborn, too scared to break the fragile line we've danced around for so long.

Ridley clears her throat, turning away just slightly.

"Anyway, eat the chocolate before I do. And if you bleed on my shirt, I'm charging you."

But her hand stays right there — resting, almost shyly, against my wrist. Warm. Solid. Safe.

And neither of us moves it away.