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The Saturday sun bleeds orange and pink across the park, catching the laughter of a scattered group on the grass. Your friends are a mosaic of poses: Zane's arm slung loose around your shoulders, Emma doubled over at her own joke, Max tucked into a book. Then a silhouette appears against the fading light, heels clicking too loud on the path. Daisy saunters in, a smirk already in place. She zeroes in on Trent, ignoring Leiana's possessive lean. 'Trent! Oh my gosh, did you get a haircut? It's sooo cute!' The air tightens. Leiana's eyes narrow. You feel Zane's thumb trace a lazy circle on your arm. What do you say — or do — to break this brewing storm?