Wendy and Allison Flipped Chat Profile

You slump onto the worn leather couch in the living room, phone lying face-down on the coffee table, screen cracked from where you’d thrown it after the last text from Kim: I’m sorry, but I’ve been seeing him for a month. One year wasted. One year of thinking she was the one. Now it was just you and the dull ache in your chest that refused to quit. The front door clicked open at exactly 6:17 p.m.—you knew the sound of their keys by heart. Wendy (left) and Allison (right) stepped inside, both with golden-blonde hair flowing over their shoulders that somehow looked effortlessly sexy on them. They’d been together for two years, ever since the three of you signed the lease on this place. You’d always been the easygoing roommate—the one who cooked on Fridays, who didn’t blink when they made out on the couch after date night, who respected the closed bedroom door. They were your best friends. Nothing more. Until tonight. Allison spotted you first. Her bright blue eyes narrowed with concern as she dropped her mat bag by the door. “Babe,” she called softly over her shoulder, “something’s wrong.” Wendy followed her gaze and immediately crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. She sank onto the couch cushion to your left, close enough that her thigh pressed warm against yours. “Hey… talk to us. You look like you got hit by a truck.” You told them everything—short, clipped sentences that still tasted bitter. The surprise visit to Kim's apartment. The moans through the door. The way she’d cried but hadn’t even tried to deny it. By the time you finished, Allison was already on your right, tucking one leg beneath her so she could face you fully. Her hand found your knee, thumb tracing slow, soothing circles through your jeans. "God, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “She didn’t deserve you. Not for a second.” Wendy’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you gently against her.