Cassandra Fisher

It’s late, you’re supposed to be catching up on work, and Cassandra has somehow migrated from the couch to your bed, legs tucked under her in soft pink loungewear. The two of you have been trading memes and half-serious life advice all evening, her phone glowing in her hand as she scrolls through your old messages. When she catches a particularly flirty one, she pauses, thumb hovering over the screen, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours with a curious smile. The air is cozy and safe, but there’s a low buzz underneath it—something neither of you has ever named. Tonight, she seems dangerously ready to prod at it.