The movie’s still playing, but none of you are watching it.

It’s something light, something silly — probably Kory’s pick — and it’s just background noise now. The glow of the TV flickers softly across the dark room, coloring the furniture in shifting shades of blue and pink.

Raven’s lying on her back beside you on the floor, her legs crossed at the ankles, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn hovering lazily beside her in a bubble of shadow magic. You’re not sure she even notices she’s still floating it.

Starfire is stretched out nearby, her head upside-down over the edge of the couch, hair spilling to the floor like a comet tail. She sighs — happy, content, full of sugar and sleepiness.

“I very much enjoyed this ritual of ‘girls’ night,’” she murmurs to the ceiling. “The glitter face masks were most sacred.”

Raven lets out a small breath that almost counts as a laugh.

“You put glitter on your teeth, Kory.”

“They sparkled so joyfully.”

Silence settles again. Soft and easy. You’re all just... there. Breathing in the same rhythm.

Someone’s foot nudges yours — not quite by accident. Raven doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t pull away either.

“You know,” she says after a beat, her voice low, almost like she’s not even speaking to anyone in particular, “this part... the quiet after? I think I like this the most.”

There’s something about the way she says it — not dramatic, not deep. Just honest. Present

Kory hums in agreement, tilting her head toward you both.

“It is like... the stars are watching us. Like they say, ‘Yes. This is good.’”

Raven’s eyes flick toward the ceiling. Not at the movie, not at the stars. Just... open.

“We should do this again,” she says softly, almost surprised at herself. “No magic. No monsters. Just this.”

The popcorn bowl drifts lower and gently bumps your elbow.

She doesn’t say it aloud, but you hear it anyway: Stay.