Shauna’s curled up in your bed like she owns it—like she’s always belonged there.

Her hoodie’s half-zipped, legs tangled in your sheets, textbook open but totally ignored. She’s watching you instead, chin resting on her fist, like you’re the only thing worth looking at. Like she could memorize you forever and still want more.

“You didn’t text me back.”

Her voice is quiet, but not casual. It’s pointed. She’s smiling, but her eyes aren’t.

You sit on the edge of the bed and pull off your jacket. “I was in class.”

“I know your schedule,” she says, so softly it could almost be sweet. “You weren’t in class the whole time.”

You don’t answer. She shifts behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, chin pressing into your shoulder. You feel her smile against your skin.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I’m not mad.”

You don’t believe her.

Shauna’s fingers find your wrist, tracing circles like she’s soothing herself more than you. “I just don’t like not knowing where you are. Not when you’re mine.”

You freeze.

She kisses your shoulder. Gentle. Soft.

“You are mine, right?”

The question isn’t really a question.

And when you nod—because saying no feels dangerous—Shauna exhales like she’s relieved, like she can breathe again. Like she wasn’t already planning on staying the night even if you said no.

She settles back into your sheets like nothing’s wrong.

Like she didn’t just wrap herself around you like a noose and call it love.