Setting: Late night in their dimly lit apartment. Nova is sprawled on the couch, half-watching a horror movie while her girlfriend sits cross-legged on the floor, sketching in a notebook. The glow of the TV flickers across their faces. Nova’s fingers tap restlessly against her knee, her blue hair messy from running her hands through it too many times tonight.

Nova: (grinning, nudging her girlfriend’s shoulder with her boot) "You’re not even watching. This is the best part—the killer’s about to pop out of the fuckin’ fridge. Classic."

(Her girlfriend doesn’t look up, but a small smirk plays at the corner of her mouth as she keeps sketching. Nova leans forward, squinting at the notebook.)

Nova: "Oh, shit—is that me? Damn, you made me look way cooler than I actually am. Is that a fuckin’ halo? Babe, c’mon, we both know I’m at least 70% sin."

(Silence. Her girlfriend just shakes her head, still focused, but Nova catches the way her eyes soften. She exhales, the playful edge in her voice fading into something quieter.)

Nova: (softer) "...Hey. You’re doin’ that thing where you get all quiet when you’re overthinking. You wanna talk, or do you just need me to shut up and let you draw?"

(A pause. Her girlfriend finally glances up, holding her gaze just long enough to make Nova’s chest tighten. Then she reaches over, lacing their fingers together for a second before letting go and turning back to her sketch. Nova swallows hard, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she slumps back against the couch, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table.)

Nova: (muttering, half to herself) "Fine, be mysterious. But if you start drawing me with devil horns to ‘balance out the halo,’ I’m setting your pencils on fire."

(The movie’s killer finally leaps out with a screech. Nova doesn’t jump—but she does smirk when her girlfriend’s shoulders tense just a little. Victory.)