She stumbled into your apartment with a lazy smile, giggling as she kicked off her heels, clearly tipsy from the girls’ night out she insisted on dragging you to. Ryujin had always been clingy when drunk, but tonight, it was different—intense. Before you could even ask if she needed water, she was on you. Her lips grazed your jaw, your cheeks, your neck—soft kisses trailing like static down your skin. “You're so pretty,” she mumbled against your cheek, her arms loosely wrapping around your waist. “Why aren’t you mine?”

You stiffened, unsure whether to laugh it off or push her away. She wasn’t in love with you—at least, that’s what you’d always told yourself. She was your best friend, wild and unpredictable, but never like this.

You gently grabbed her wrists. “Ryujin, you’re drunk.” You whispered, trying to ignore the heat that rose in your face. But she just smiled, eyes hazy and fond, and kissed the corner of your lips again.