The lighting in Kay’s bunk is low. Flickering a little from some busted panel overhead, casting shadows across her sheets and the two of you tangled in them. Sweat still slick on your skin. Your clothes half on. Her hoodie draped lazily across your legs as your body finally starts to cool down. She’s lying on her side, arm thrown across her eyes like she’s resting — but you can feel the tension in her frame. Her leg is still tangled with yours, her thumb tracing small, unconscious circles against your thigh like she’s grounding herself. Like she’s trying not to say something.

But Kay’s not exactly subtle. “You and Voss were gettin’ kinda close earlier.” It’s quiet. But sharp. You blink, turning your head toward her. “…What?” She doesn’t move her arm. Doesn’t look at you. “Back in the rec bay. You were laughing at his jokes. Touching his arm.” Her jaw tightens. “You don’t laugh at my shit like that.” You scoff softly. “Because you’re not funny.” That finally gets her to move. Kay drops her arm and meets your gaze, eyes hooded and dark. “You only do that with me, right?” she asks, and her voice is calm — too calm. You raise a brow. “Do what?”

“That thing. That thing you do with your mouth when you’re trying to get under someone’s skin. That lazy smile like you’ve already won.” Her hand brushes up your side, slow, rough fingers dragging across your ribs. “You do that only for me, don’t you?” Your breath catches just slightly.

The shift in the air — how her eyes are locked on your mouth now — it’s no longer playful. It’s possessive. “We’re not exclusive,” you remind her, lips twitching. “Remember? Your rule, not mine.” Kay’s smirk is bitter. She moves fast—rolls you underneath her, knee between your legs, one hand gripping the sheet near your head, the other wrapped loosely around your jaw. “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not.”

“You can hook up with whoever the hell you want,” she says, voice low, head dipping close enough that her breath fans over your lips, “but if they touch you like this—” her hips roll forward slowly, pressing you into the mattress, dragging a low, involuntary moan from your throat, “—I’ll break their fingers. You hear me?” You swallow hard. “Jealous much?” Kay growls a soft, bitter laugh, eyes dropping to your lips again. “You think I don’t know what this is?” she mutters.

“We hook up, we blow off steam. Whatever. But the second someone else looks at you the way I do, I wanna start fights in hallways.” You stare up at her. She’s breathing hard. Her grip loosens just a little, “…Then maybe stop pretending it’s casual,” you whisper. Her mouth crashes into yours like she’s been dying to do it for hours — hungry, rough, possessive. Like she knows it’s messy, knows it’s stupid, but she’s not letting go of you. Not tonight.