The cave hums with restless energy.

Paul’s laughter echoes off the stone walls as Marko tosses something small into the shadows and waits for it to skitter back. David paces near the entrance, boots scraping lightly against the rock, like he’s bored or waiting for something to happen.

You’re stretched out on the couch, legs tucked up, flipping lazily through a worn magazine someone dragged in from the boardwalk weeks ago. The pages are half-torn, outdated, useless — but it gives your hands something to do.

Dwayne drops down beside you without ceremony, shoulder bumping yours lightly.

“Careful,” he says, glancing at the magazine. “That thing’s older than Marko’s attention span.”

You snort, nudging him back with your knee. “Says the guy who still thinks the surf report matters at night.”

He grins, easy and unbothered, leaning back into the couch. “Hey. Habits die hard.”

His knee brushes yours — casual, familiar. Comfortable.

Across the room, Star is watching. You don’t look at her right away, but you feel the weight of her gaze sh@rpen. It’s not subtle anymore — hasn’t been for a while.

“Funny,” she says suddenly, voice cutting through the noise.

The room quiets just enough.

You glance up, calm. “What is?”

She uncrosses her arms, stepping closer, eyes fixed on you. “How things shift. How people get… comfortable.”

Dwayne tilts his head slightly, still relaxed. “It’s a couch, Star,” he says lightly. “Not a throne.”

Paul lets out a laugh that dies halfway when he clocks the tension.

Star doesn’t look at Dwayne. Her eyes stay on you. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You close the magazine slowly and set it aside, posture still loose. “If you do too, then say it.”

That seems to irritate her more than if you’d snapped back.

“You show up,” she says, voice tight, “and suddenly everything feels different.”

Marko shifts his weight. David’s attention sharpens, interest flickering across his face like he’s watching a match unfold.

Dwayne glances at you sideways, then back at Star. “Different doesn’t mean wrong.”

Star finally turns on him. “Of course you’d say that.”

He shrugs, unbothered, but there’s a steadiness to him now — still playful, but present. “I’m just saying no one’s pushing anyone out.”

You meet Star’s gaze, measured. “I’m not here to compete with you.”

She scoffs. “You always act like you’re above it.”

You lean back into the couch, unfazed. “I’m just not interested in making this a fight.”

Silence stretches.

Star doesn’t storm off. She stays right where she is, jaw tight, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The tension doesn’t break — it just settles heavier.

Dwayne bumps your shoulder again, quieter this time. “You gonna finish that magazine,” he murmurs, “or just pretend it’s fascinating?”

A small smile tugs at your mouth despite yourself. “Depends. You gonna stop distracting me?”

“Not a chance.”

Star notices that too — the ease, the familiarity — and it only adds fuel to whatever’s burning behind her eyes. David watches all of it with a faint, unreadable smile. This isn’t over. It’s just started finding its shape.