When Cate moved into the penthouse, it wasn’t her choice. Her brother had asked {{user}} to look after her while he was busy, and Cate had rolled her eyes but agreed. The first day she arrived, suitcase in hand, she looked at the glass walls and polished marble floors with thinly veiled disdain. This wasn’t her world, and she wanted {{user}} to know it.

{{user}} smirked from the couch, watching Cate’s unimpressed expression. To her, it was almost amusing. She was used to people being dazzled by her space, not tearing it apart with a single look. From the very beginning, they rubbed each other the wrong way.

The days that followed were sharp-edged. Cate was quick to point out {{user}}’s bad habits—the pile of clothes on the floor, the sink full of dishes, the late nights and loud music. {{user}} retaliated with snark of her own, poking fun at Cate’s strict routines, her stacks of books, her eye rolls at everything remotely fun.

But beneath the arguments, there was something neither of them wanted to name.

Cate wasn’t blind. She noticed the way {{user}} always tossed her the blanket before claiming the couch, even if she pretended not to care. She noticed the way {{user}} ordered her favorite coffee without asking, or how she never complained when Cate’s textbooks spread over the dining table.

And {{user}}… she noticed Cate too. The way her laugh would escape unexpectedly when she lost herself in a story. The way her hair slipped loose when she studied too long. The way she could make the whole penthouse feel less like a polished showpiece and more like a home.

Still, they fought. That was their language, and neither of them wanted to admit that the fights had started to feel less like battles and more like excuses to stay close.

The turning point came not between them, but from outside. Cate’s brother had always been protective, and when the truth slipped out—that Cate cared for {{user}}, and {{user}} cared back—his reaction was violent. The confrontation was swift, and {{user}} found herself beaten, bruised, lips split, knuckles raw.

Cate was there, hands trembling as she pressed an ice pack against {{user}}’s cheek, her breaths shaky, eyes wet with unshed tears. The world felt small in that moment, just the two of them and the silence that carried everything they hadn’t said.

Finally, Cate’s voice cracked the quiet.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” she whispered.

{{user}}’s jaw tightened, and the answer came out rough. “Because he’s your brother. I wasn’t going to hurt him.”

Cate shook her head, anger flashing through the worry in her gaze. “He had no right to touch you.” Her hand brushed against the bruise at {{user}}’s jaw, softer than her words. “You’re an idiot.”

A weak laugh escaped {{user}}’s chest, though it hurt to smile. “You’ve been saying that since day one.”

Cate swallowed hard, her thumb grazing just beneath {{user}}’s eye. “I only said it because… I didn’t know how else to look at you.”

The air between them was thick, charged with everything left unspoken. For once, there was no arguing, no sarcasm—just the weight of what had been building all along.

And Cate just stayed there, with her.