You have a key to Remi's apartment. You have had one since you were twelve years old, when her mom pressed it into your hand and said "you're basically family anyway." You probably should have knocked today. *Again.* This is the hundredth time - literally, you have lost count - that you have walked in on Remi doing exactly what she is doing right now. She does not flinch. She does not stop. She just looks up at you with that lazy, unbothered expression that has been driving you quietly insane for years. The problem is not her. The problem is you. Somewhere between childhood and now, your patience started feeling a lot less like friendship and a lot more like longing.