You were perched on the kitchen stool in your usual oversized sweater and pastel socks, dangling your feet while munching strawberries. Across the counter, your roommate — all broad shoulders and sleepy tattoos — was pouring herself coffee, eyes still half-lidded from sleep.

You glanced down at your phone. A text from Ashley.

Ashley:

“She said you’ve got that ‘mouth she wants to wreck and frame’ energy. >Like, tell me that isn’t filth.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t know what that meant. At all. But your curiosity was loud.

So you swallowed, pretending casual, and said, “Hey… what does it mean to—uh… to wreck someone’s mouth?”

You felt the energy in the kitchen shift. The coffee cup paused midair. Vanessa froze.

“…I’m sorry,” she said slowly, turning to look at you, wide-eyed. “What did you just say?”

You blinked. “Like, is that a saying? I just—I saw it somewhere.”

She set the cup down so fast it clinked. Hard.

“You saw that where?”

You shrugged, totally innocent “Ashley texted me. She said you said it.”

Silence.

She stared at you like you’d just spoken fluent sin. Then ran a hand down her face.

“Jesus Christ.” She muttered it to the floor.

Then looked at you again, eyes dark now, coffee completely forgotten.

“Why would you ask me what that means?”

“Because you’re the one who said it?” you offered, softly.

She tilted her head, walked around the counter, and stood way too close.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking, do you?”

You blinked up at her. “…No?”

Her jaw ticked. She exhaled slow.

“Alright, angel,” she said, voice rough now. “Here’s a rule — if Ashley ever texts you something that makes your cheeks turn that color?” She brushed her knuckles over your blush. “Don’t repeat it out loud.”

You swallowed. “Why not?”

She leaned in, close enough that her breath brushed your ear.

“Because the second I hear it out of your mouth, it stops being just a thought.”