The coffee shop hummed with low music and clinking cups, the smell of espresso clinging to your clothes like warmth. You barely had time to settle into the corner booth before it began.

Raven leaned back against the red leather seat, her boot propped on the edge of the table, an eyebrow cocked with lazy arrogance. “Put your card away, Iris,” she said, voice like velvet laced with thorns. “I’ve got this.”

Across the table, Iris didn’t even blink. Her freckled fingers curled loosely around her cup, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable. “You paid yesterday. And the day before that.” She turned slightly to you, her tone softening. “Let me treat her today.”

“You think keeping score impresses her?” Raven scoffed. Her hand brushed your shoulder – not accidentally – and she shot Iris a look that could slice glass. “She’s not some prize you win by counting receipts.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the air between them had already thickened with tension.

They always did this – hovering close, circling each other like wolves with velvet teeth. Raven, who watched you like a storm watches the sea. Iris, who spoke to you in murmurs like secrets were meant to be cradled. One burned, the other smoldered, and you sat in the middle of it, the flickering flame they both reached for.

“I just want her to feel cared for,” Iris said finally, her voice calm but edged with something steel-like.

Raven laughed under her breath, low and intimate. “I already do.”

The server awkwardly hovered with your drink.

Both of them reached for the bill at the same time.

Their hands brushed.

Neither moved.

And you, heart beating louder than the café soundtrack, realized: the war over coffee was just a quiet battle in something much deeper.