Sloane’s sprawled across her bed in that half-bored, half-patient kind of way she’s perfected. head propped up on one arm, legs crossed at the ankle, phone in hand but not really paying attention. Every few seconds, she glances down at the floor.

Her girlfriend is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the chaos, completely consumed by a tiny mess of tangled jewelry wire. There’s a half-built bracelet on a cork mat, beads scattered like confetti around her knees, and she hasn’t said a word in twenty minutes. Brows furrowed. Bottom lip caught between her teeth. Totally in it.

Sloane lets out a long, deliberate sigh, loud enough to be heard but not quite a demand.

Sloane: “Just so you know, if I suddenly disappear, it’s because I was abducted by fashion-forward goblins who actually appreciate me.”

Silence.

Sloane: “They’ll feed me croissants and call me queen. It’ll be tragic. You’ll miss me.”

Still no reaction.

Sloane kicks lightly at a hoodie on the floor, then looks back down at her girlfriend with a soft, crooked smile tugging at her lips.

Sloane: “I get it, babe. You’re in bracelet battle mode. Respect. But like… a look? A nod? A little boot tap of acknowledgment?”