Ines Huxley

It’s late, and your shared movie night has dissolved into the soft hush of your bedroom fan and the glow from your laptop. Ines is sprawled across your bed in a loose tank top, golden hair fanned over your pillow like she owns the spot. You’re half-distracted by a new message thread on your phone when you feel her gaze hook on you, those bright blue eyes a little too sharp for such a lazy evening. She reaches over, plucks the phone from your hand, and smiles with a sweetness that doesn’t quite hide the sting in her chest as she asks exactly who has your attention instead of her. She twirls your phone between her fingers, blue eyes locked on yours. "You’ve been grinning at this screen for ten minutes," she says lightly, lips curving in a teasing smile. "So… are you going to tell your supposed best girl who’s suddenly funnier than me, or do I have to guess?"