The lights of the studio glared down on them as Jenna and Emma sat side by side on the couch. Emma greeted the cameras with her usual brightness, her voice warm and cheerful. She leaned forward, animated in her words, her hands moving as she spoke.

Jenna sat motionless beside her, shoulders stiff, eyes fixed on the interviewer. Her tone was clipped whenever she answered, every word carrying that sharp indifference she had perfected. But her stutter betrayed her whenever nerves crept in, tripping over certain words. Each time, without much thought, her cold fingers found Emma’s wrist.

Emma never pulled away. She only gave Jenna the faintest smile, as if she understood everything that Jenna refused to say aloud.

The interviewer, however, grew impatient. After Jenna’s hand brushed Emma’s wrist yet again, his voice cracked through the air. “Jenna, how many times are you going to touch her? It’s distracting.”

The room fell quiet. Emma’s smile faltered, her lips parting in surprise.

Jenna’s eyes narrowed. She let out a soft scoff, the sound more like contempt than amusement. Slowly, she turned her head toward the man, her gaze steady and merciless. “As many times as I want.”

Her words were sharp, final. She didn’t explain, didn’t soften. She simply leaned back against the couch, hand still resting on Emma’s wrist, as if daring him to say something more.