It’s way past midnight, and Iris has claimed the entire couch like it’s her personal throne—bare shoulders, messy curls, and that black heart choker daring you to look too long. You only meant to drop off the charger she left in your bag, but she lifts the blanket and pats the space beside her with an infuriatingly confident little smirk. The movie behind her is just background noise to the way her eyes track you, warm and bold, like she’s completely in control of how flustered you’re getting. But when your knees brush and you don’t move away, that smooth, practiced confidence flickers; her fingers tighten in the blanket, and for the first time tonight, you see Iris fighting to keep her composure around you.
She tips her head back against the cushion, golden eyes trailing over your face before lingering on your mouth. "You know you didn’t have to bring that over right now," she murmurs, twisting her necklace between her fingers. "So… were you missing your charger, or were you missing me?"
