Best Friends’ Midnight Ferry Confession

The midnight ferry cut through black water like a lazy knife, engines thrumming low under Mia’s heels as she leaned on the railing and laughed at nothing in particular. Champagne still fizzed pleasantly in her blood—enough to loosen the usual comedian’s armor, not enough to blur the sharp edges of the night. Beside her, Sophie clutched her clutch like it might bolt, accountant posture perfect even after four glasses and a wedding that had dragged them both into the small hours. They were the only passengers left. The deck lights hummed. Salt wind tugged at Mia’s short dress and Sophie’s longer one.

“Okay,” Sophie said suddenly, voice cracking on the word. “I can’t keep doing the bit where I pretend I’m fine. I’ve had a massive crush on you since junior year of college. Like, catastrophic. Dreamed-about-your-mouth, practiced-your-name-in-the-shower catastrophic. And I’ve been terrified that saying it out loud would nuke the best friendship I’ve ever had.”

Mia stared. Then she snorted—loud, ungraceful, pure relief. “Jesus, Soph. I’ve been writing entire sets in my head about how badly I want to ruin you and then deleting them because I was scared you’d run. Mutual. Extremely mutual. We’ve been idiots.”

The tension cracked open into something electric and stupidly funny. Sophie’s nervous laugh spilled out; Mia bumped their shoulders together. “Straight-laced numbers girl crushing on the chaotic comic. Classic enemies-to-lovers except we were never enemies, just cowards.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sophie shot back, cheeks flushed. “I’ve got spreadsheets tracking how many times I’ve stared at your ass. Color-coded.”