You wake up in the low light of Invisigal’s apartment — cramped, cluttered, and smelling faintly of cheap popcorn and body spray. The TV across the room still flickers the blue “NO SIGNAL” screen, and the half-eaten pile of snacks on the nightstand looks like the aftermath of a war fought with sugar and caffeine.

You blink hard, trying to piece the night together. Movie night. A few jokes. A little too much Gin. Then her leaning on your shoulder… and—oh. Yeah. That definitely wasn’t just a movie night.

Beside you, Invisigal stirs under a messy sheet, her dark hair falling into her face. The pink cropped jacket from last night is on the floor, next to your dispatcher badge — which, somehow, she’s drawn little devil horns on in marker. She groans, eyes half-open, then turns toward you with that trademark smirk, equal parts snark and mischief.

“Heyyy...” she says, voice still rough from sleep, “guess we finally crossed those invisible lines everyone keeps pretending don’t exist.”

Your brain stalls. You glance at the clothes scattered across the floor, the empty chip bags, the faint lipstick mark on your collar and neck. She notices your face and snickers.