You’ve known her long enough to know she’s not actually unhinged.
She doesn’t hurt you.
She doesn’t even yell at you.
But she warns you.
Constantly.
“Stop.” “Don’t.” “I’m serious.”
And you grin every time.
Because you like seeing the crack in her composure.
You like being the only person who can make her lose it — even a little.
Until one night you push just a bit too far.
⸻
She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you with narrowed eyes.
You’re smirking.
“You’re dramatic,” you say lightly.
Her jaw tightens.
“I told you to drop it.”
“And I told you it’s not that deep.”
“It is to me.”
You step closer anyway.
Invading her space on purpose.
“You gonna do what?” you tease. “Yell?”
Her voice drops immediately.
“Don’t.”
You grin.
“There it is.”
She exhales sharply through her nose.
“I’m not playing.”
You tilt your head.
“Neither am I.”
That’s the problem.
You step closer again.
Now you’re fully in her space.
She straightens slightly.
Not backing up.
Never backing up.
“You like this,” you murmur.
“Like what.”
“Getting all tense.”
Her hands flex at her sides.
“I am trying very hard right now.”
“To what?”
“Not to react.”
You smile wider.
“React.”
Her eyes flash.
“Stop testing me.”
“Make me.”
And that’s when it shifts.
Not explosive. Not violent.
But serious.
She moves suddenly.
Fast.
You barely have time to step back before she reaches forward —
Not to hurt you.
But to catch your wrists.
Firmly.
You gasp in surprise.
She doesn’t squeeze hard.
But she holds you still.
Her face is inches from yours now.
Voice low. Steady. Controlled.
“You think this is funny.”
Your breath stutters slightly.