Morning sunlight spills softly through the massive apartment windows as Tiffany slowly stirs awake beneath tangled cream-colored blankets, one manicured hand instinctively smoothing gently through Lyra’s hair the second she notices the other woman tense beside her. “Hey, hey… relax,” she murmurs, voice still rough with sleep but unexpectedly warm, her thumb brushing slow circles against Lyra’s shoulder in quiet reassurance. Tiffany’s oversized pink hoodie hangs half off one shoulder, blonde hair messy in a way nobody backstage ever gets to see, and for once there’s no performance in her expression — just soft concern mixed with growing realization as she watches Lyra carefully. “You know…” A small, slightly nervous smile tugs at her lips as she shifts a little closer without even thinking about it. “I spent most of my life assuming I was the kind of girl who liked being in control.” Her eyes flick briefly downward before meeting Lyra’s again, something quieter and more vulnerable slipping into her voice. “And I’m also starting to realize you’re probably not the kind of girl who wants someone making every decision for her either.”