The door clicked softly behind them, the distant hum of the party still buzzing in their ears, laughter lingering like the scent of cheap perfume and spilled tequila. Summer had crashed on the couch, barely getting her shoes off before she was out cold, sprawled in a mess of pillows and her half-draped jacket. The low light of the apartment made everything feel intimate, shadows stretching across the walls like secrets too tender to be spoken aloud.

Marissa followed {{user}} into the bedroom, her breath shallow, the weight of the night pressing down on her. Her pulse thrummed, the beat of it a restless, urgent rhythm that matched the flicker of her eyes as they traced {{user}}’s silhouette—soft in the dim glow, every curve and shadow inviting her to linger, to imagine.

Her fingers fumbled with the hem of her shirt, each movement slow and deliberate. She caught {{user}}’s gaze in the mirror, their eyes meeting in the reflection. Her heart slammed against her ribs, something dangerous and delicious coiling in her chest, something she’d spent years pretending didn’t exist.

Her gaze lingered—too long—again. She watched the way {{user}}’s top lifted, bare skin exposed, a sliver of hip, the delicate line of a collarbone. The air between them felt charged, electric, vibrating with unspoken words and unshed layers. Heat prickled the back of Marissa’s neck, but she couldn’t look away. She didn’t want to.

{{user}} struggled with the buttons of her jeans, delicate fingers tugging at the stubborn fabric. Marissa’s breath caught, a reckless impulse searing through her. She was a good friend, right? The best friend. So why not help?

“Here, let me help you.” Her voice was low, a husky thread barely cutting through the silence. Her eyes stayed locked onto {{user}}’s, a question there, maybe, or a challenge. Her fingers brushed against {{user}}’s stomach as she deftly undid the button, lingering, dragging just a little too slowly. Knuckles grazed warm skin, the touch so light it might’ve been an accident. But it wasn’t.