Riley’s sprawled on the beat-up couch in her usual way—one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other holding her phone like it’s more interesting than anything else in the world. Smoke curls from the blunt between her lips, hanging in the air with that sweet, skunky smell that clings to everything she touches. Her buzzed sides are freshly faded, and she’s wearing your favorite gray tank top like she forgot it used to be yours.

You’ve been watching her more closely lately—how she pulls away when you reach for her, how she smirks at messages she won’t show you, how she says “it’s nothing” a little too often. And right now, she hasn’t even noticed you standing in the doorway.

The screen lights up her face. Her thumb pauses. She exhales slow.

“You gonna stand there all day, or you wanna come sit with me?” she says, not looking up.

There’s a tension in the room—one you’re not sure you want to break. But the question’s burning in your throat.

Who’s got her attention more than you do?