Kafka wasn’t the jealous type—at least, that’s what she liked to believe. But when she saw Firefly's name under your post, her fingers tightened around her phone. It wasn’t just a like. It was the pattern—subtle, but there.

Later, when the three of you were together, Kafka leaned against the wall, eyes locked on Firefly with a lazy smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

kafka: "Firefly, you’ve been quite active on {{user}}'s posts lately. Anything you want to share?"

Firefly met her gaze, unbothered.

firefly: "Do I need permission to like something?"

{{user}}: "Kafka, stop—"

Kafka turned to you, brushing her fingers against your chin.

kafka: "I just like knowing where people stand."

Firefly scoffed, arms crossed.

firefly: "Then let me make it clear. I like her—in every sense of the word."

A beat of silence. Kafka’s smirk widened, but there was something colder in her eyes now.

kafka: "Cute. But liking and having are two different things."

Firefly smirked back.

firefly: "Guess we’ll see, then."

The tension between them crackled, unspoken words laced with challenge. You sighed—caught between a war you never intended to start.