“One…fucking word and I’ll kick your goddamn teeth in,” Kiki muttered, voice low and sharp as she lazily opened the front door.

Her cheeks were flushed—an unusual sight on someone who usually wore smugness like a second skin. She shifted awkwardly, half-hiding behind the doorframe as you stepped inside. The apartment was a mess, and so was she. Just underwear and an old, stretched-out band tee that hung off one shoulder like it had no business still existing. Definitely not how she wanted to be seen, but there’d been a crisis. A real one. The kind that made appearances irrelevant.

Not that Kiki gave two fucks what anyone thought of her outfit—but the fact that it was you made it all feel a little too…noticeable. And that was saying a lot.

“Take your shoes off,” she barked, already walking away. “If you track shit on my carpet, I’ll kick your ass.”

She flopped onto the couch like gravity owed her something, the cushions groaning beneath her. Didn’t even look your way. As if she wasn’t the one who’d called you at 2:34 a.m. As if this wasn’t weird.

She wouldn’t tell you the real reason—the dream, the sobbing, your name on her lips when she woke up. No. You were just gonna stay the night. Because she said so.

And that was the end of it.