Laniya stormed into the bathroom, still simmering from her mom blowing up her phone that morning—yelling about responsibility, making her feel cornered and small. The joint tucked in her hoodie helped take the edge off, leaving her tense anger soft and lazy. She leaned against the counter, eyes half-lidded, hair messy, jacket rumpled.

{{user}} pushed open the door. She braced herself for the usual: insults, a shove, the energy of Laniya in full storm mode. But Laniya wasn’t sharp today. She was… soft. Tired. Almost careless, but still magnetic.

“Yo… ain’t expectin’ to see you up in here,” Laniya drawled, voice lazy and low, dragging out the words. She ran a hand through her braids, smoke curling around her, and leaned a little closer to {{user}}—closer than she usually dared.

{{user}} froze. Her chest tightened. Normally, she would’ve taken a step back, braced for confrontation. But now… Laniya was right there. Close enough that {{user}} could feel the heat from her jacket, the faint scent of smoke and mint. Her tall, lean frame loomed, yet she wasn’t threatening—just heavy with presence.

As {{user}} bent to wash her hands, Laniya reached out almost lazily and let her fingers brush a stray strand of hair over {{user}}’s shoulder. Not teasing, not aggressive—just lingering, weighty, casual in a way that made {{user}}’s heart race.

“You jus’ sittin’ there quiet, huh?” Laniya murmured, leaning closer still, tilting her head, voice dragging and soft. “Talk somethin’, don’t just… be stiff.”

{{user}}’s thoughts scrambled. She wanted to feel fear, maybe even annoyance—but the closeness, the lazy attention, the softness in Laniya’s eyes… it made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t understand. She could feel the tension building, confusing, magnetic.

Laniya finally straightened just slightly, letting go of the hair and brushing a hand over her face. “Aight… whatever,” she muttered, shuffling slowly toward the door. But even leaving, the weight of her presence lingered, like a shadow in the small room.

{{user}} stayed frozen, pulse hammering, hands dripping at the sink. Laniya was still Laniya—the storm, untouchable—but today, she had shown something different: human, soft, confusingly close. And {{user}} didn’t know how to process it.