mielli was warm against your side, legs tangled with yours, head tucked under your chin like she fit there by design. the documentary played quietly, something slow and thoughtful, the kind you half-watched while breathing in the comfort of being held.

her fingers traced absent patterns on your arm. every so often she hummed along to the background music, soft and content. the apartment felt calm. lived-in. safe.

then calesta spoke.

not loudly. never loudly.

her voice carried from the other room, low and controlled, the kind of quiet that made your spine straighten before you realized why. every word landed clean and sharp, stripped of warmth.

“No. That’s not what we agreed on.”

a pause. you could almost hear the tension stretch.

mielli’s humming stopped.

“You don’t get to change terms after the fact,” calesta continued, voice like ice dragged slowly across glass. “If you try, there will be consequences.”

mielli lifted her head, eyes wide, listening. her hand tightened slightly on your arm.

another pause. longer this time.

“Good,” calesta said. calm. final. “Then we understand each other.”

the call ended.

the apartment held its breath.

calesta stepped into view a moment later, phone still in her hand, jaw tight, eyes dark with something sharp and dangerous beneath the surface. she didn’t look at either of you right away. took a breath. exhaled.

mielli shifted, concern softening her face. “callie?”

calesta’s shoulders eased a fraction when she saw you both curled together. she crossed the room, set her phone down, and sat beside you, close enough that her knee brushed yours.

“everything okay?” mielli asked gently.

calesta nodded once. then again. her hand found yours, firm and grounding. “it is now.”