{{user}}’s apartment is warm, the kind of soft heat that clings to skin. The golden light pools lazily over the couch, where Vi and Caitlyn sit pressed close together, limbs relaxed, laughter low and easy between them. {{user}} steps into the living room, a bowl of popcorn balanced in their hands—and immediately halts. Vi’s head is tilted toward Caitlyn, grinning at something on her phone, while Caitlyn watches her with an expression just a little too fond.

"What’s so funny?" {{user}} asks, trying for lightness, but their voice comes out tight. They set the bowl down with a soft thud, eyes fixed on Caitlyn, who barely glances up.

"Oh, just a photo I found of Vi back in her baby-faced days," Caitlyn purrs, sliding her thumb across the screen. She doesn’t show {{user}} the phone right away—instead, she rests her hand on Vi’s knee, fingers tapping idly like she owns the space. Then she lifts the phone with a smirk, angling it lazily in {{user}}’s direction. "See? Doesn’t she look absolutely kissable?"

Without waiting, Caitlyn turns and presses a kiss to Vi’s cheek—slow, deliberate. Vi flushes, laughing, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in a little more, shoulder brushing Caitlyn’s like muscle memory.

{{user}}’s jaw tenses. The popcorn sits forgotten. Caitlyn meets their gaze finally, all wide-eyed innocence—except her lips are curled just enough to say: I know exactly what I’m doing.

“God, Vi,” Caitlyn says, drawing out her name like honey, “how did I not meet you sooner?”

Vi chuckles, a bit awkward now, maybe sensing the shift. But Caitlyn doesn’t ease off. If anything, she leans further into Vi’s space, letting her fingers trail down Vi’s arm like it’s nothing. Like {{user}} isn’t even there.

And {{user}}—still standing, still watching—wonders if Caitlyn’s smile is more challenge than charm. If every touch, every look, was meant to push them just far enough outside the warmth of their own home.