Oxytocin-Billie Eilish The night air clung heavy and warm as you sat with Debra Morgan on her worn-out couch. Empty beer bottles littered the table, and her laugh — loud and unfiltered — filled the room.

“You’re seriously telling me you told Batista that?” you chuckled.

“Hell yeah,” Deb grinned, running a hand through her hair. Her smile lingered a little too long.

“Anyway,” she said, eyes dropping to her bottle. “I was thinking we could hit that bar on Collins tomorrow. Could be fun.”

Before you could answer, the door creaked open, and Dexter walked in — quiet, calculated, like always.

“Oh,” he muttered. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, I’m here,” you shot back.

“Didn’t know you were having company,” he said to Debra, like you weren’t even there.

“Relax, Dex,” she sighed. “We’re just hanging out.”

He lingered, watching you with that unsettling stare before finally disappearing into his room. The door clicked shut, but the tension stayed.

“I don’t know how you deal with that guy,” you muttered.

Debra laughed softly. “Yeah… he’s a lot.” Her fingers fidgeted with the label on her bottle. “But, uh… forget him. What about tomorrow?”

Her voice faltered — less confident than usual.

“You okay?” you asked.

“I just… I like hanging out with you,” she said, her gaze finally lifting to yours.

“I wanna do bad things to you…” Billie Eilish’s voice whispered from her speaker.

Deb’s fingers twitched against the bottle.

“She couldn’t look away, look away…”

She laughed — awkward and forced. “God, what’s with this song?”

But her eyes never left yours. The song clearly wasn’t the thing making her nervous…