Sweet Like Her

Damien

She's back.

Not entirely. Not the cling-on-my-arm, chatter-your-ears-off, smile-like-it's-sunny girl I'm used to.

But she's here.

And she's holding out a lunchbox like it's a peace offering wrapped in pastel pink.

"Hi," she says, eyes refusing to meet mine. "I, um, made this."

It's got her handwriting on the lid. "For D. Eat. Or else."

I try not to smile. I fail.

"You made me lunch?"

She shrugs like she's not already scanning my face for approval. "Just... thought you might skip. Again."

I raise a brow. "You were mad at me yesterday."

She shrugs again. "I still care if you starve."

I open the box. There's a sandwich, cut diagonally the way she always does hers. Fruit, sliced and sorted by color. And a tiny post-it stuck under the lid that reads: "Don't be dramatic. You're not allowed to faint from hunger in anatomy."

My chest does this weird tightening thing.

"You're back to sweet coffee," I say casually, nodding at her cup.

She hesitates. "I lied. I missed the sugar."

"You missed me more."

She nearly chokes on her first sip.

I smirk, taking a bite of the sandwich. "Don't pretend you didn't. Your silence was unnerving."

She huffs. "You didn't even notice until I stopped bringing coffee."

"Wrong," I reply, swallowing. "I noticed. I just didn't know how to fix it."

She stares at me, fingers toying with her straw. "And now?"

"Now," I say, leaning back against the bench, "I'm letting you fix it."

She glares at me. "I am fixing it."

"I know." I glance at the post-it again, then at her. "And I'm not sharing this sandwich."

Her lips twitch. "It's literally your favorite. I knew you wouldn't."

"Then why even pretend it's not a bribe?"

"It is a bribe."

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. The campus buzzes around us, but she's the only thing I can focus on.

I've missed this. Missed her.

Even her noise. Especially her noise.

"I like the pink nail polish," I say suddenly.

She blinks. Looks down at her hands like she forgot they exist.

Then she grins.

"You're impossible," she says.

"No," I answer quietly. "You just make me soft."

And judging by the way her cheeks flush and she suddenly hides behind her coffee cup, maybe—just maybe—I'm not the only one falling.