Cate had been good tonight. As good as someone like Cate could be—quiet where she’s usually mouthy, curled against {{user}} like a weighted blanket disguised as a person, letting the movie do the talking. Her hand kept finding the hem of {{user}}’s sleep shorts and then thinking better of it. She could behave. She had been practicing. She wanted a reward that required self-control to earn.

Cate tucked her nose behind {{user}}’s ear and inhaled like she was memorizing a recipe. “You smell amazing,” she murmured, trying not to sound like a menace.

“It’s soap,” {{user}} said, eyes on the screen, but her voice dropped a shade. “Menace.”

Cate focused on the movie for thirty respectable seconds. Then she failed. “Can I ask you something?”

“That’s always a scary opener,” {{user}} teased, but her laugh warmed the room.

Cate lifted her chin, deciding to be brave like a person who deserved the thing she wanted. “It’s still my birthday month,” she said, trying for light and landing closer to prayer. “I’ve been really, really good.”

{{user}} hummed. “You have been,” she allowed. “Suspiciously good.”

“I want my present.” Cate swallowed, fingers worrying the edge of {{user}}’s borrowed sweatshirt—the one that had migrated to her closet months ago and now lived there. “The one I asked for.”

Silence, but not the bad kind. {{user}}’s profile went thoughtful, which was a face Cate knew—brows knit, lips pressed together like she was weighing her choices.

“And if I say yes,” {{user}} said, very mildly, “you’re going to be calm about it?”

“I am the picture of calm,” Cate lied. “I am a pond.”

“Uh-huh. A pond with a hurricane advisory.”

“I’ll be good. I swear. I want to…remember it right.” She could feel her cheeks heat, felt young and ridiculous and painfully sincere. “I want it to be us, not noise.”

That earned her the glance she’d been chasing all evening: {{user}} turned her head, slow, letting Cate see the whole thought in her eyes. Intent, fond. “You’ve been campaigning for this for months.”

“Which proves consistency,” Cate said primly. “It’s not a joke to me.”

“I know,” {{user}} said, softer. “It isn’t to me either.”

Relief loosened under Cate’s ribs. She let her fingertips trace the seam of {{user}}’s hoodie—one inch of touch with a thesis behind it. The movie went on pretending to matter. Cate watched the reflection of them on the dark screen: two shapes under a blanket, almost touching, pretending to be harmless. Her pulse did its steady drumroll.

{{user}} reached forward and tapped the spacebar. The apartment exhaled around the sudden quiet. Cate did not. She held her breath because everything felt tipped on a hinge.

“Okay,” {{user}} said after a beat. “Dunlap, you get one chance. You don’t rush. You listen. And if I say stop—”

“I stop,” Cate finished, already nodding. “Always.”

“Close the blinds,” {{user}} added, practical as ever.

Cate scrambled off the bed, pulling the shades until the city became suggestion, then turned back and found {{user}} watching her with that mix of mischief and mercy Cate had fallen for.

“Come here,” {{user}} said, patting the mattress.

Cate crossed the room, feeling the whole month behind her, all the good behavior like fuel.

“Good girl,” {{user}} said, not as a trigger but as a benediction, and Cate went warm all over from forehead to toes.

“Tell me what to do,” Cate managed, steady now that the map existed.

{{user}} smiled, quick and crooked, and scooted back to make room like an invitation. “Start by getting under the blanket,” she said. “And then we’ll go slow.”

Cate slid in beside her, knees touching, fingers laced, a breath shared in the quiet they’d made on purpose. The laptop sat closed on the duvet like a well-behaved secret. Outside, the rain found a gentler rhythm. Inside, Cate felt herself cross the last sliver of almost and arrive at a threshold she’d wanted for months.

She met {{user}}’s eyes to make sure they were standing in the same place, in the same story. “Okay,” she whispered, grateful and certain. “I’m ready.”