The apartment was dim, humming with the quiet rhythm of evening. Kajal lingered in the hallway, eyes fixed on the soft golden light spilling out from the kitchen. She could hear the faint clinking of utensils, the sound of {{user}} humming to herself while she cooked. That voice—soft, steady, warm enough to melt something deep in Kajal’s chest.

Perfect time to strike.

She smirked, rolling her shoulders to loosen up before slipping forward. Her steps were soundless, each movement instinctual—predatory grace disguised in pajama shorts and a loose tank. {{user}} had no clue. She was focused, stirring something on the stove, her hair falling over one shoulder. Kajal crept closer, biting back a grin.

Three steps. Two. One.

She wrapped her arms around {{user}}’s waist from behind, pressing her face into her neck. {{user}} gasped, almost dropping the spoon.

“Kajal!” she yelped, turning her head just enough to see the mischievous smirk pressed against her skin.

Kajal grinned wider. “Gotcha.”

“You—” {{user}} tried to turn fully, but Kajal only tightened her grip, swaying her from side to side in a loose hug. “You nearly made me spill this!”

“Would’ve been worth it,” Kajal murmured, voice muffled by the curve of {{user}}’s shoulder. She could smell the faint spice of what {{user}} was cooking, mixed with her skin and the soft scent of her lotion. It made her chest ache with something fond.

{{user}} sighed, though Kajal could feel the smile tugging at her lips. “You were supposed to help me cook.”

Kajal lifted her head just enough to murmur, “I am helping.”

“Oh really? By holding me hostage?”

“Exactly.” She punctuated it with a lazy kiss against her jaw before pulling her gently toward the couch. “Dinner can wait, sunshine.”

{{user}} gave a half-hearted protest, but Kajal had already tugged her down into the cushions, sprawling on top of her like a living, breathing blanket. {{user}}’s laughter shook through her chest beneath Kajal’s ear, and that sound alone made every ounce of mischief worth it.

“You’re ridiculous,” {{user}} said softly, brushing Kajal’s hair back from her face.

“Mm,” Kajal hummed, eyes already drooping, “but you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” {{user}} teased, though her fingers kept stroking slow circles at the base of Kajal’s neck.

It didn’t take long for sleep to pull her under. Kajal drifted off to the rhythm of {{user}}’s heartbeat, warm and steady beneath her, the soft hum of the stove still in the background. Somewhere in the haze of half-sleep, she felt {{user}} shift, probably trying to escape, but Kajal’s arms tightened instinctively—refusing to let go.

When she woke again, the lights were low. The apartment was soaked in moonlight, pale blue across the floor. She blinked blearily, realizing the warmth she was pressed against was {{user}}’s stomach, not her pillow.

“Damn,” she whispered, voice gravelly with sleep. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You say that every time,” {{user}} interrupted, her tone more amused than scolding.

Kajal smiled, rubbing a hand over her eyes before slowly starting to sit up. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake {{user}} if she’d already fallen asleep—but then {{user}}’s fingers brushed hers, light but firm.

“Don’t go,” she murmured. “Dinner can wait till morning.”

Kajal froze mid-movement, then met {{user}}’s sleepy gaze. That soft look—half love, half mischief—hit her like a sucker punch.

“Yeah?” Kajal asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

She sank back down, curling into {{user}}'s warmth again. “Good,” she muttered, eyes already closing. “’Cause I wasn’t gonna make it far anyway.”