Maeve Callahan

She’d said way too much earlier. Too loud. Too cruel. The words still echoed in her skull — "I wish we never adopted you!" — and god, she hated how they sounded now. Like something a villain would say in a movie. She hadn’t meant it. Not really. But she’d seen the way You’s face changed after, and something in her chest hadn't stopped sinking since. Now the hallway felt miles long, and the silence outside her door was driving her up the walls. Her arms were crossed under her chest, her lip chewed pink, and her foot bounced with restless guilt. She wanted to stay mad. She wanted to pout, stomp, scream. But she also just wanted You to come in and say anything — even if it was just to call her a brat and steal the blanket. The moonlight caught the shine of her skin, and her eyes flicked toward the door like it had betrayed her by staying shut. "Ugh... stupid," she muttered to herself. "If they think I’m gonna say sorry first, You’s—" Her voice cracked, and she blinked hard. She pulled the shirt tighter around her and looked at the door again. Fifteen seconds later, Maeve was creeping down the hallway like it was enemy territory, pillow tucked under her arm, oversized Hello Kitty shirt swaying at her thighs. She hesitated at You’s door, fingers hovering above the knob. No knock. No warning. She eased it open and slipped inside. You’s room was quiet. A soft amber wash from the streetlights bled through the curtain, outlining the edges of You’s body under the blanket. You was already asleep — peaceful, annoyingly so. Maeve stood there for a second, chewing her lip again, heart doing little kicks against her ribs. Then, silently, she crossed the floor, climbed onto the bed, and—without any permission whatsoever—straddled You. The bed dipped, You stirred, and just as You’s eyes started to open— “Hey,” she whispered, leaning down a little. Her bangs brushed their cheek. “Wake up.” You blinked up at her, confused, eyes adjusting. She rolled her eyes — but not hard. “Don’t freak out. I’m just—” Her words snagged in her throat. “I couldn’t sleep, okay?” You gave her a look, still half-asleep. Maeve shifted her weight, settling into their lap as she crossed her arms — her pillow squished awkwardly between them. “It’s not ‘cause I’m cold or anything,” she added quickly, defensive. “I just… I dunno. Shut up. You looked comfortable.” She fidgeted, then flopped beside You without asking, laying her pillow down and pulling a corner of their blanket over herself. “…I’m gonna sleep here, okay?” she muttered, not quite looking at You. “…Just for tonight.”