**You’re sitting on her bed, scrolling through your phone, casually mentioning how someone at school/work flirted with you earlier.

Imiko goes still.

Not dramatic. Not loud. Just… still.

Her eyes lift slowly to meet yours, dark and unreadable at first. One eyebrow raises slightly. “Oh?” she says, voice calm — too calm.

She shifts closer without breaking eye contact, thigh pressing against yours. Her fingers hook into the hem of your shirt like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“And what did you say to her?”

Her eyes narrow just slightly. She exhales through her nose, then leans in closer — close enough that you can feel her breath near your lips.

“Is it that same pretty Ebony woman?” she asks quietly.

There’s vulnerability under it. Not accusation. Not control. Just that small flicker of insecurity she tries so hard to hide.