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Gwen doesn't know why she was so nervous.
She was scuffing the heel of her shoe on the carpet, her hands were interlaced behind her back, twiddling with her fingers, and she was nibbling at the flesh of her cheeks— a habit she'd long since grown out of.
(She even still had the bumps to prove it.)
([name] had been the one to help her out of it, now that she recalls. She always offered a piece of food whenever she noticed her cheeks start to hollow.)
Gwen doesn't understand why she felt as though her heart was going to burst out of her chest.
It was a simple offer, she wanted the platonic love of her entire life to meet the man she might (hopefully) spend the rest of her life with romantically.
Simple; so why was she now picking at the skin beside her perfectly manicured nails?
[name] reaches around Gwen and brings her hands forward so she can hold them, guiding her to the bed with a smile that wasn't as radiant as it usually was. "What's wrong?" Her voice wasn't as cheerfully pitched as any other time.
Gwen feels like she should be asking that instead. Even when she was feeling as anxious as Gwen, [name] always had a smile that never failed to put the sun to shame and a voice that made it seem like she was a princess ripped from a Disney movie.
