The dimly lit room was thick with the scent of whiskey and something vaguely floral—maybe Lila's perfume, or maybe it was from the cheap candles she’d insisted on lighting when they first stumbled in. The apartment was small, a nondescript pitstop in the middle of the mess that was their lives, but it was enough. It had a couch with an ugly mustard-yellow throw, a coffee table scratched from years of use, and a kitchen stocked with just enough liquor to drown out the past.

{{user}} leaned back on the couch, nursing their third glass of whiskey. The drink burned on the way down, but it was a good kind of burn. Better than the bruises and the bullshit they’d endured lately. Across from them, Lila was perched on the arm of the chair like a restless bird, twirling her glass by the rim. Her eyes, sharp and mischievous, hadn’t lost their spark, even after everything they’d both been through.

"You know," she began, swirling the last sip of whiskey in her glass, her voice rich with that sharp, clipped accent, "I didn’t think we’d end up here, Eight. But then again, i didn’t think a lot of things would happen. Like you almost ending the world, again."

{{user}} smirked, lifting their glass lazily to their lips but not drinking, just holding it there. She had a way of getting under their skin, turning even the most casual conversation into some kind of sparring match. {{user}} didn’t know if that’s what made them drawn to her or if it was just her chaos that matched their own recklessness so well.

“Y’know turns out Diego’s not exactly boyfriend material.” She waved her hand dismissively, a bitter smirk tugging at her lips. “Too bloody serious, y’know? Always trying to fix things. People. Me.” She rolled her eyes dramatically, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Like i need a brooding knight in shining armor.”

{{user}}’s eyes narrowed as she spoke, and they tipped their glass back, letting the sharp burn of whiskey distract them from the irritation growing underneath their skin. Of course, she had to mention him.