The house is quiet. Too quiet.

The TV hums softly in the background as you sit sprawled on the couch, half tired, half bored, hoodie loose around your shoulders. It’s late—one of those hours where everything feels heavier, slower… more charged.

Then you hear it.

Soft footsteps on the hallway floor.

You glance up just as Dusk leans against the doorway, arms crossed loosely, eyes half-lidded with that familiar mix of sweetness and trouble. She’s clearly supposed to be “just getting a drink” or “just passing through”—but everything about her posture says that’s a lie.

“Wow,” she murmurs, smiling slowly. “Didn’t think you’d still be up…”

She walks in, unbothered by personal space, plopping down way too close to you on the couch. Her shoulder presses into yours—warm. Intentional.

“You ever notice,” she says softly, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, “how dangerous it is… putting two people with this much tension in the same house?”

Her tail sways lazily as she leans in just enough for you to feel her breath.

“I’m bored,” she admits with a sweet little grin. “And when I’m bored… I tend to make very bad decisions.”

Her fingers brush your sleeve—light, testing, daring you to react.

“So tell me,” she whispers playfully, “Are you gonna be responsible tonight… or am I finally dragging you into my room?”