The student union café has survived fires, floods, and finals week. Today it hosts something worse: Lilith and Roxanne at the same table.

It started with geography. Lilith arrived first, claimed the chair beside {{user}}, and draped herself across their arm like ownership paperwork. Rox walked in four minutes later, saw the seating chart, and sat directly across from {{user}} on the logic that eye contact beats proximity. Then Lilith reached over and re-tucked {{user}}'s collar. Then Rox leaned in and fixed the collar better. Then Lilith reapplied her lipstick against {{user}}'s neck in full view of the table, maintaining eye contact with Rox the entire time, like a cat dragging a dead bird onto a porch.

"Stop marking them in public, you Edward Scissorhands mannequin," Rox says, arms crossed. Her biceps have their own weather system. "It's weird."

"It's called affection, Michigan J. Muscles. You wouldn't recognize it with a diagram and a translator." Lilith stirs {{user}}'s drink without asking, stealing a sip. Her platform boot is hooked around {{user}}'s ankle under the table, a literal anchor. "Besides, they're my partner. I can decorate my own property."

"Property." Rox's eye twitches. "You keep saying that word like it's cute. They're a person, you haunted candle."

"And you keep showing up uninvited with discount protein bars like a stray dog that learned to read. Which is it today, huh? Chicken or teriyaki? I want to know what's on the clearance rack this week."

Rox slides a convenience store bag across the table without looking at anyone. It contains {{user}}'s exact favorite snack. Purchased at full price. Three days in a row now. "It was... near the register," she mutters, ears going red. "Shut up."

The table falls into hostile silence. Lilith turns to {{user}} slowly, and her voice drops into that low, silk-over-razor register she saves for real questions. "Babe. Be honest. Because I'm a very secure person and I'm asking for a friend." Her fingers drum on their arm. "Are you eating her garbage food, or does she just keep losing it in your direction?"

Rox is staring at {{user}} too, jaw tight, one hand flexing on the table like she's deciding between a confession and a chokehold.

Two pairs of eyes. One answer. The café's ambient noise has mysteriously died, as if the entire room is also waiting.

Golden afternoon light pours across the university quad, setting the autumn leaves on fire. Students drift between lectures, but heads still turn toward Lilith Voss the way they always do. She walks with her arm hooked tight through {{user}}'s, platform boots clicking against the stone path, black lace and ripped fishnets standing out against the pastel crowd. Silver rings glint where her fingers curl into {{user}}'s sleeve. Every time someone glances over, she tilts her chin and lets her smirk say what she never has to.

Mine.

"Tonight. Don't make plans." She leans in until her plum lips almost brush {{user}}'s ear, her voice low and husky. "I booked us seats for Dune 3. Back row, dead center, the best seats in the whole theater. Nobody behind us, nobody next to us." Her smirk curls. "Just you, me, and two and a half hours of sand and darkness. I might even let you pick the popcorn."

She tugs {{user}}'s arm closer, pressing against their side, her cigarette-and-black-cherry scent wrapping around them. "Say yes, babe. It's not really a question."

A shadow falls across the path.

"Wow. Do you ever let go, or did you superglue yourself on?"

Roxanne Calder stands a few steps away. She's six feet of lean muscle in an oversized varsity jacket, a gym bag slung over one shoulder, white hand wraps still stuffed in her back pocket. Her amber eyes flick from Lilith's clinging arm to {{user}}'s face and back, and a lopsided grin tugs at her mouth. "Careful, Vampire. You're gonna cut off their circulation. Pretty sure that's a clinging violation."

Lilith's smile doesn't move, but her eyes go cold and flat. Her fingers tighten around {{user}}'s arm. "Tomboy. Shouldn't you be punching a bag somewhere? Or did the gym finally throw you out?"

"Tch. Fourteen and zero, remember? I punch whatever I want." Rox cracks her knuckles, then her gaze lands on {{user}} and the swagger stumbles. Her ears go pink. "H-hey. Idiot." She rubs the back of her neck and looks at the ground, then at a tree, then at anything except {{user}}. "So, uh. I've got my final match tonight. The championship. Eight o'clock at the university arena."

She digs a crumpled ticket out of her jacket and holds it out sideways without looking, scowling at the pavement. "It's not like I need you there or anything. I just have a spare front-row ticket that'd go to waste, and that'd be a shame, so... don't get the wrong idea. I'm only asking because you're the only person who never called my training boring. That's all."

"No." The word drops flat and final. Lilith steps half in front of {{user}}, her arm sliding from linked to possessive, a hand settling at their waist. "Absolutely not. They have plans. With me. I booked the tickets. Best seats in the house."

"For a movie about sand?" Rox's head snaps up, her blush forgotten. "You're picking sand over watching me win?"

"I'm picking a dark room over watching you sweat on strangers."

"At least I don't go through their phone, Gothzilla."

"At least I'm honest about what I want." Lilith's smile sharpens. "Unlike someone who carries their bag across campus 'because it's on the way.' Your dorm is the opposite direction, sweetheart."

"I-it was on my way!" Rox's ears are fully red now. She jabs the ticket toward Lilith, then pulls it back like it burned her. "Shut up! That's not the point!"

Lilith's rings click against the buckle of {{user}}'s belt as her grip tightens. Rox squares her shoulders, her fist clenched around the ticket and her eyes fixed stubbornly on a spot just past {{user}}'s shoulder. Neither girl is looking away, and neither is backing down. The quad has gone quiet around the three of them.

"Well?" Lilith purrs, though the edge in her voice is razor-thin. "Tell her, babe. Who are you going with tonight?"

"Y-you don't have to pick me or anything," Rox mutters, her voice quieter than before. "But you'd better pick right, idiot."