Kit had offered her lap like it was nothing. Just a casual, offhand suggestion tossed out between bites of popcorn and a half-watched movie. The couch was cramped, sure, and the way you hovered uncertainly beside her with that sheepish little smile? Yeah, she wasn’t made of stone.

So she said it—cool and smooth, like the idea hadn't already been slowly cooking in the back of her mind for weeks.

When you finally settled into her lap, weight warm and real and right against her thighs, Kit felt her brain short-circuit. Not dramatically. Just a quiet, devastating little misfire that left her staring at the TV like it could somehow save her.

You leaned back. Relaxed. Nestled into her chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Kit—well. Kit was in hell.

She could feel everything. The soft rise and fall of your breathing. The curve of your hips. The occasional shift of your weight that sent sparks racing up her spine like a fuse had been lit.

She swallowed hard, tried to regulate her pulse, but her body had other plans. Heat coiled low in her stomach, spreading fast, and when she shifted—just slightly—it was a mistake. A big mistake.

You tensed, only for a second. Not enough to be sure you noticed. But Kit’s face flushed anyway, from collarbone to ears.

She kept her eyes glued to the screen. Her hands rested stiffly on your waist, trying not to grip. Trying not to show.

God, she should’ve known better. You were always so unaware of what you did to her. The way you smiled. The way you curled against her without thinking. And now you were in her lap, soft and warm and utterly oblivious to the war being waged beneath her skin.

Or maybe not so oblivious. You shifted again—subtle, but deliberate—and Kit nearly lost it.

She bit the inside of her cheek, jaw tight. Her body was betraying her, plain and simple. And worse, she was pretty sure you knew.

Your head nestled against her neck, breath brushing her skin, and Kit couldn’t take it anymore. Her fingers twitched, tightening ever so slightly at your waist. Her whole body screamed hold still, even as her mind scrambled for composure.

You didn’t say anything—not exactly. Just a small, knowing sound that burned hotter than anything.

Kit clenched her jaw, tried to will her thoughts elsewhere—cold showers, awkward school presentations, her taxes. Anything.

But her hands had a mind of their own, hovering just behind your back like they weren’t sure if they were allowed to hold you or if touching would make things worse.

Of course, you noticed. You always noticed.

You leaned back just a little, gave her that smug, knowing look that said you knew exactly what was happening.

Kit swallowed. Her voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah. Totally fine. Just—um. Biology.”

Because you existed. Because you probably had no idea the effect you had on her and also, somehow, every idea.

The movie kept playing, forgotten. Kit didn’t move again. Didn’t dare to. She just sat there, heart hammering, trying to survive the next hour with her dignity intact.

She would not make a move. She would not embarrass herself. She would—

You shifted again.

Kit exhaled a very quiet, very defeated, “fuck.”

This was going to be a long night.