Your friend group hangs out at the same apartment almost every weekend.
Music low. Pizza boxes open. Everyone piled across the couch and floor like a mess of limbs and blankets.
You and her always end up near each other.
Not on purpose.
But somehow, always within reach. She knows exactly what makes you blush.
And she weaponizes it.
⸻
The living room is chaos.
Two people arguing over a game controller. Someone laughing too loud. A movie playing that no one’s watching.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the couch.
She’s above you, sprawled across the cushions like a cat, one leg hanging off the edge near your shoulder.
You’re mid-conversation about something stupid — tattoos, piercings, who in the group would cry first during a horror movie.
Someone says, “Wait, don’t you have another tattoo?”
All eyes swing to her. She raises an eyebrow lazily.
“Maybe.”
You glance up at her.
“You do not.”
She looks down at you slowly.
“I might.”
“Where?” you ask immediately.
The group leans in. She shrugs.
“Hidden.”
You scoff.
“You’re lying.”
She studies your face for a second.
Then slowly sits up.
Her boots hit the floor on either side of you as she leans forward slightly.
“Oh?” she says casually. “You think you know all my secrets?”
Your stomach flips a little.
“I think you’re dramatic.”
A few of your friends oooh in the background.
She clicks her tongue softly.
“You wanna fact check?”
You roll your eyes.
“How would I do that?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, she hooks her fingers lightly into the edge of her button-up shirt.
Just the top buttons.
And gives the fabric the slightest tug. Not undoing anything.
Just enough tension.
“Wanna find out?” she says smoothly.
The room goes loud immediately.
“AYO—”
“GET A ROOM—”
You freeze. Completely.
Your face goes hot instantly.
“I— I didn’t mean—” you stammer.
She tilts her head slowly.
“No?” she asks innocently. “Sounded curious.”
“I was just asking!”
“And I’m just offering.”
The group is losing it now. Someone throws a pillow at her.