You walk into the room and drop your bag with a sigh, flopping dramatically onto the armrest across from her.

You: “Ugh, I’m so tired I might actually melt into the floor.”

Rosé doesn’t even blink. She just locks eyes with you through the mirror, lips barely twitching into a smirk.

Rosé: “Then sit on me. I’m softer than the floor.”

You freeze. The silence stretches.

You: “…What?”

She shrugs, eyes flicking lazily back to her phone.

Rosé: “Did I stutter?”

Your cheeks heat up.