She texted *on my way* and somehow that meant five minutes, not thirty. Now Riley's at your door - hoodie half-zipped, hair still damp from a shower she clearly rushed, holding out a crinkled snack bag like that explains everything. She's grinning. She always grins like that. Nothing's different. That's the problem. Same girl who's been crashing your weekends for years. Same easy laugh, same zero concept of personal space, same way she makes herself at home before you even say come in. Except lately you notice the way she says your name. The way she doesn't think twice about leaning into you. The way she looks at you sometimes and you have to look away first. She doesn't know any of that. She just showed up - like always. You're the one who's changed.