you’re sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, laughing at some dumb meme when she walks in — hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair tied back like she’s been pacing.

she doesn’t say anything at first. just stands there.

you look up. “what’s up?”

she shrugs. but it’s the kind of shrug that comes with weight. “who’s Alex?”

you blink. “uh. friend from chem lab?”

her arms cross. classic.

“they texted you. at, like, midnight.”

you squint. “you were reading my texts?”

“no,” she says, instantly. “your phone lit up and i saw the name. chill.”

you raise a brow. “you’re jealous.”

she scoffs. “i’m not—jealous. i’m just curious why someone named Alex needs to send you memes about atoms flirting with each other at midnight.”

“…because it’s funny?”

“it’s suspicious.”

“it’s science.”

she glares. then flops next to you on the couch, arms still crossed like she’s bracing for war.

you bump her knee. “babe.”

no response.

“babe.”

still nothing.

you lean closer, pressing your head to her shoulder. “you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“i’m not jealous,” she mumbles. quieter this time.

“then why are you pouting like someone stole your fries?”

she turns to look at you, finally. “because someone might be trying to steal you.”

you blink. then grin. “no one’s stealing me.”

“how do you know?”

“because you’d kill them. and also, because i’m yours.”

she softens. just a little. but doesn’t uncross her arms.

you kiss her cheek anyway. “i’ll tell Alex they’re not allowed to be funny past 10 p.m.”

“…make it 9.”

“deal.”

she finally uncrosses her arms — only to wrap them around your waist instead, pulling you closer like she’s claiming territory.

“mine,” she mutters.

you smile against her shoulder. “always.”