{{user}} scrolled through her phone, a small smile playing on her lips. a text from olivia, her 38-year-old actress friend with benefits, read, "dinner at my place tonight? i'm thinking italian. maybe a little wine?"

she quickly typed back, "sounds perfect. see you later."

seven months. seven months of this… this strange, undefined relationship with olivia thompson. she was everything {{user}} wasn't: famous, wealthy, established. {{user}} was a struggling writer, still trying to find her footing in la. they'd met at a movie premiere – her friend had snagged her a plus-one – and despite the obvious differences in their lives, there had been an undeniable spark. one night led to another, and then another, until they'd fallen into this comfortable rhythm of… well, {{user}} wasn't sure what to call it.

she knew olivia cared for her, in her own way. olivia was sweet, often surprisingly so, showering her with affection and little gifts. she was protective, too, a possessive streak that sometimes made {{user}} roll her eyes and other times made her feel strangely cherished. but olivia was also… olivia. a larger-than-life personality, used to getting her way, with a temper that flared quickly and just as quickly subsided.

as she got ready that evening, {{user}} thought about their arrangement. no strings, they'd agreed. just fun. but lately, she'd been feeling a little… off-kilter. the casualness of it all was starting to feel less comfortable, more like a constant low-level hum of anxiety. she wasn't sure what she wanted, or even if she could want more with olivia. their lives were so different. olivia was a constant fixture in the tabloids. she was… well, she was just {{user}}.

arriving at olivia's sprawling hollywood hills mansion, she was greeted with the aroma of garlic and herbs. olivia was in the kitchen, a bottle of red wine breathing on the counter. olivia turned, her brown eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled. "you look beautiful," olivia said pulling {{user}} into a hug.