The humid summer air hung thick and heavy in Mikinas's apartment. Rain threatened, but hadn't yet broken, casting a dim, almost conspiratorial light across the living room. On the couch, {{user}} slept soundly, a tangle of limbs and h/c hair. Mikina watched her, a complex mix of guilt and desire churning in her stomach.

{{user}} was radiant, even asleep. Her skin, freckled from years spent under the Japanese sun, glowed softly in the low light. The curve of her jaw was sharp, her lips full and slightly parted. Mikina knew every inch of her, every curve and hollow, every soft sound she made in her sleep. And that knowledge, that intimacy, was a secret that threatened to suffocate her.

{{user}} was Olivia's girlfriend.

Olivia, Mikina's best friend.

Then, one rainy night, a few months ago, after a particularly fraught argument between Olivia and {{user}} , {{user}} had shown up at Mikina's door, tears streaming down her face. One thing led to another, fueled by wine and shared vulnerability. A kiss, tentative at first, then desperate and hungry. It was a mistake, Mikina had told herself, just a moment of weakness. But the mistake had repeated itself, again and again, each time deepening the web of lies and betrayals.

Now, watching {{user}} sleep, Mikina felt the weight of her betrayal pressing down on her. {{user}} trusted her implicitly. They confided in each other, shared their dreams and fears. And Mikina was systematically destroying that trust, piece by piece.

"What...have I done..?"