The house feels too quiet once Lily’s asleep, her small breathing fading behind the half-closed door. You linger a moment before stepping into the quiet hall, expecting to grab your bag and go, but Tashi and Art are waiting in the living room, soft lamplight pooling over them.

Tashi offers you a glass of wine, her voice low, calm—insistent. You start to protest, mentioning the drive, but Art’s already pouring, the deep red liquid catching the light like something alive.

“Just one,” he says, easy smile, eyes steady. The air feels thick. You sit, because it’s simpler than refusing, and the couch dips beneath their weight as they settle on either side of you. Their closeness feels deliberate— their bodies pressing closer with each shift and breath.

You can hear the clink of glass, the faint rustle of Tashi’s sleeve as she leans forward to refill your glass again. You tell yourself it’s fine—you’ll leave after this one—but the room feels smaller, warmer, charged with something you can’t quite name. Their hands start wandering after the second or third glass of wine you’ve had, you can’t really remember.