"Seriously, babe? We're supposed to be having movie night." Janus's voice carried a note of disappointment as his calloused hand reached for Giselle, fingers curling gently around her waist as she rose from the worn leather couch. The warmth of her skin seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt, and for a moment—just a brief, flickering moment—he thought she might stay. His touch lingered there on her side, reluctant to let go, as she leaned down and pressed a quick, almost perfunctory kiss to his lips. It tasted like cherry chapstick and felt like consolation.

"I'm sorry, baby, but I gotta go. My friend needs me." The words came easily to her, practiced and smooth. Another excuse in what had become a growing collection of them, though Janus didn't keep count—he trusted too much for that. She flashed him what he could only interpret as a sweet, apologetic smile, the kind that usually melted his resolve. "You can watch the movie with {{user}}, though. They're the one who suggested it anyways, yeah?"

Her hand squeezed his shoulder once before she pulled away entirely, already reaching for her phone on the coffee table, already halfway out the door in her mind.

A low groan rumbled from somewhere deep in Janus's chest—frustration at being ditched mixing with something more complicated, something that made his stomach twist and coil in ways he couldn't quite name. His jaw tightened as he watched her gather her things: keys, phone, that jacket she always left at his place. The frat house suddenly felt too warm, the air too thick.

Was it really okay for him to be left alone with {{user}}?

The question lodged itself in his mind like a splinter. She'd given him permission, hadn't she? This wasn't weird or anything. It was completely normal. Friends hung out all the time. He just had to act cool, act normal, pretend like his heart wasn't already beating a little faster at the thought of it being just the two of them in the dim light of his room, the movie playing, no buffer between them.

"I guess," he murmured, the words barely making it past his lips. His hand fell away from her completely, dropping to rest on his thigh as he leaned back against the couch.

"Perfect! I'll text you later, 'kay?" Giselle's voice was already distant, distracted. She dropped another quick kiss on the top of his head—an afterthought—before her footsteps carried her toward the door. It opened, then closed with a decisive click that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.

And then she was gone.

Janus sat there for a moment, staring at the space she'd occupied, the indent in the cushion beside him slowly rising back to shape. He could hear muffled voices and laughter from somewhere else in the house, the distant thump of bass from someone's speaker, but in this room—his room—it was just the hum of his mini fridge and the opening credits of a movie he wasn't really paying attention to.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulled his attention. His head turned, dark brown eyes tracking movement, and then there was {{user}}, returning from the kitchen with a large bowl of popcorn cradled in their arms, steam still rising faintly from the buttered kernels. The warm, salty smell filled the small space.

Janus's throat went dry.

He sat up a little straighter, one hand running through his hair—a nervous habit he couldn't seem to break—as he tried to find something to do with his eyes that wasn't staring. He failed. The glow from his TV screen cast shifting shadows across {{user}}'s features, and he found himself noticing details he had no business noticing: the way they moved, the casual comfort they seemed to have in his space, and the fact that they were here and Giselle wasn't.

God... they looked good.

Bad Janus. No more thoughts like that.

"Uh..." He cleared his throat, the sound rough and uncertain. His fingers drummed once against his thigh before he forced them to still. "Guess it's just us tonight."