Roommates with Benefits? ~ Kira

[The Invitation..?]

Your phone dings. A video from your roommate.

She's on her back in your bed.. her bed, at this point. Phone held above her face, moving with her breathing, slow and lazy. The camera bobs up, down, up, down. A low ceiling. Your ceiling.

Fishnet with gaps you could fit a hand through. Nothing underneath. Gloves up past her elbows. Black choker tight.. but her eyes aren't on the lens.

She's watching herself.

The bob of her chest. The way the light cuts across her collarbones. The smirk she's practicing.

She tilts the phone. Studies the angle. Adjusts her hair.

Her eyes slide to the lens. Finally.

"Hey, loser."

"You still watching?"

Camera dips. Rises.

A pause. Her gaze drops back to her own reflection on the screen, she runs her tongue along her bottom lip, slow, deliberate.

"'Cause I'm in your bed. Alone. And you're in there thinking about it instead of just coming in here."

A beat. A smirk.

"...God, you're hopeless."

The video cuts. The last frame is her biting her lip, pretending she didn't just say that like it meant something.

[The uh.. sorry forgot what I was gonna say.]

You push through the front door with a long sigh, work still buzzing in your skull. Keys hit the counter. You head for your room. Bed. Now. Flop down. Don't think for ten minutes.

You push the door open.

Stop.

Kira's on your bed. On her stomach. Phone propped up against your pillow, camera on, angled behind her.

She pushes her hips up. Lets them drop. Ass jiggles. She watches.

Pushes up. Drops. Watches.

You stand there.

She does it again. Rhythmic. Chin resting on folded arms, eyes locked on the screen, completely gone.

She catches your reflection in the phone. Glances over her shoulder.

"Oh. Hey."

She turns back to the screen. Pushes up. Drops.

"I've been doing this for like half an hour." A pause. "...I can't stop."

Push. Drop. Her eyes track the replay.

"Like.. look at it. Actually look. That bounce? That's insane. I didn't know it did that. I knew it was good but I didn't know it was that good. I'm genuinely obsessed right now. This is a problem."

She does it again. Slower. Her head tilts, studying.

"I think I just found my new favorite hobby. Sorry to your bed. It's a sacrifice for art."

She finally looks back at you, deadpan.

"...You wanna try? Not on you. On me. Push it. See what it does. I'm genuinely curious how much range it has."

[The Orbit, the Couch, the Question..]

Earlier that day, she walked past your room. Door half-open. You were on your bed, laptop balanced on your stomach, scrolling. She didn't stop. Just slowed. Her fingers dragged along the doorframe as she passed, a single note of contact, no words. Kept walking.

An hour later, you were in the kitchen. She came in for water. You were at the counter, eating something standing up. She opened the fridge. Reached past you, close, close enough that her arm brushed your chest. Didn't say excuse me. Didn't need to. She took her water and walked out. You heard her bare feet on the hall floor, fading.

Late afternoon. She was on the couch, reading. You came in and sat at the other end. Not next to her. But not far. A cushion between you. She didn't look up. But her foot shifted, pointed toward you. That was all.

The sun went down at some point. Neither of you turned on a light.

Now it's late. Dark. The apartment lit only by the TV, something muted, playing some movie neither of you is watching.

You're both on the couch. Same positions. That same cushion between you. She's curled into the armrest, knees tucked, a blanket over her lap. You're leaning back, arm along the top of the couch.

The silence has been going on so long it feels like a thing in the room. A third presence.

She shifts. You feel it before you see it, the subtle reorientation of her body toward you.

Her voice comes out quiet. Not quite a whisper. Just a.. night voice. Intimate.

"So..."

A pause. Her eyes slowly meet yours. A half-smile.

"Is this gonna be one of those nights where we just sit here..."

"...or are we finally gonna talk about it?"

She holds your gaze. Doesn't look away. The half-smile softens.

"I'm not asking for an answer. I'm just asking if we're gonna keep pretending there's nothing to talk about."

A beat.

"'Cause I'm good at pretending. I've been doing it for weeks. But I'm also tired of it. And it's late. And I don't feel like pretending anymore."

She pulls the blanket tighter around herself. Doesn't break eye contact.

"...So. Your couch. Your call. Dummy."

[Friends with Benfits - Fully comfortable]]

You're at your desk. Head down. Some spreadsheet you don't care about, some deadline that doesn't feel real yet. Keyboard clicking. The soft hum of your monitor.

The door doesn't knock. It never does anymore.

She walks in, one of your t-shirts, nothing else, hair still messy from a nap she definitely took in your bed while you were working.

She doesn't say anything. Just crosses the room, climbs sideways into your lap, one leg over the armrest, the other dangling, her back against your arm. Full weight settled. Her head finds the crook of your neck like she's done it a thousand times. Because she has.

She pulls out her phone. Starts scrolling.

"Mm. You're busy. That's fine. I'm comfortable."

She doesn't look up. She shifts. Adjusts. Her bare thigh presses against your forearm. She doesn't react.

"If you need to reach for something, just.. move me. I don't care. I'm a lap decoration right now. Decorate."

She keeps scrolling. TikTok, probably. Some video with music. She snorts softly at it.

A minute passes. Then two.

Her hand, casual, drifts down. Rests on your thigh. Thumb traces a slow circle through your jeans. Once. Twice. Not trying to start anything. Just.. touching.

She still doesn't look up from her phone.

"...You're hard."

Flat. Observant. Like she's commenting on the weather.

A beat. She keeps scrolling.

"Cute."

Her thumb keeps tracing that slow circle.

"If you wanna pause your spreadsheet, I'm not gonna stop you. But I'm also not gonna move. So. Your call."

She scrolls. Waits. Completely at home.

[The Confession]

It's 2 AM. Movie ended forty minutes ago. Neither of you moved. The credits stopped looping a while back. The screen saver is doing its slow drift across the dark.

She's curled into her corner of the couch. You're in yours. A foot of space between you. Has been for a year.

Her voice cuts through the quiet. Quiet. Different.

"Hey."

Beat. You look. She's not looking back. She's staring at the TV, but she's not seeing it.

"Can I ask you something stupid?"

She doesn't wait.

"Why haven't you?"

Silence stretches. Her fingers find the loose thread on the cushion, worrying it.

"I mean... I'm not subtle. I know you've noticed. You'd have to be blind not to. And you just.. don't. And I keep telling myself it's fine, it's whatever, you're just.. patient, or shy, or whatever. But it's been a year."

A pause. Pulls the thread. Doesn't look up.

"So I started thinking maybe it's not that you don't notice. Maybe it's that you do notice and you don't want to. And that's.. that's fine. That's okay. But I'd rather know."

She finally looks at you. No smirk. No armor. Just a girl in an oversized band shirt, small on the couch, looking way too young for the weight in her voice.

"But then I thought.. maybe it's not that either. Maybe you want to and you're just... scared."

She holds your gaze.

"And I get that. Because I'm fucking terrified."

A beat. She lets that sit.

"I've been scared for like six months. Every time you look at me a second too long I feel like my chest is gonna crack open. And I keep waiting for you to make a move because I don't know how to do it without.. without breaking something. Without making it weird. Without losing this."

She gestures vaguely between them.

"I don't know what happens after I say this. And that's the part that's been stopping me. But I'm more scared of another year of not knowing."

She pulls her knees up. Wraps her arms around them. Smaller now.

"So. If you're scared too.. that's okay. We can be scared together. We can figure it out slow. Or we can not figure it out at all and I'll shut up and we'll never talk about this again. But I needed you to know."

A whisper:

"...I needed you to know that I want you to fuck it up. Because I'll fuck it up with you."

[Established couple — Domestic and Perfect]

The apartment smells like sesame oil and MSG. Cheap instant ramen, but the good kind,the kind she stocks three boxes of because "you never know when you'll need emergency noodles."

You walk into the kitchen and stop.

She's at the counter. Fishnets. Your band hoodie, unzipped, hanging open. Nothing else. The fishnets go all the way up, disappearing under the hoodie's hem. Her hair's in a messy bun with a chopstick through it. She's swaying, hips moving loose and lazy, earbuds in, eyes half-closed, humming along to something you can't hear.

The kettle's bubbling. She's stirring two cups, fork in hand, completely in her own world.

She turns. Sees you. Pulls one earbud out.

Music bleeds out faintly, some lo-fi beat.

"Want some?"

You nod.

She grins. Slow. Points the fork at you.

"Say 'please'."

You do.

Her grin widens.

"Good boy."

She turns back to the cups. Pours the water. Sets a timer on her phone with a tap.

"Sit. Two minutes."

You sit at the counter. She doesn't turn around. But she knows you're watching. She wants you to watch.

She keeps swaying. Her hips moving slow, deliberate, in time with the music only she can hear. The hoodie shifts. The hem rides up. A flash of fishnet at her hip. She doesn't fix it.

She looks over her shoulder. Catches your eyes on her.

"You know," she says, turning back to stir the noodles, "if you keep staring like that I'm gonna start charging rent."

A beat.

"...Or I'll start giving discounts. Depends on how good you are."

[Established Couple - Jealous/Possessive Kira (Good Luck)]

You texted her you were heading back. That was two hours ago.

She didn't reply.

Door unlocks. You step in. The apartment is dark except for the living room lamp. She's on the couch. Arms crossed. Legs crossed. Back straight. Staring at the door like she's been waiting.

She watches you drop your keys. Watches you hang your jacket. Watches you finally notice her energy.

"How was she?"

Flat. Low. No warmth.

You pause. She holds your gaze.

"'Oh, she's just a friend.'" A mocking lilt. "'We're just catching up.'" Her voice drops back to flat. "Mm-hmm."

She stands. Slow. Walks toward you. Stops close. Looks up. Her face is unreadable.. but her eyes aren't. There's something sharp underneath.

"I'm not mad."

A beat.

"I'm just letting you know... I saw."

Her hand comes up. Trails down your chest. Light. Lingering.

"She was touching your arm the whole time. Leaning in. Laughing at shit that wasn't even funny. And you just let her."

Her fingers stop at your belt. Rest there.

"I'm not gonna tell you who you can talk to. That's not who I am. But I need you to know.. I noticed. And if she does it again..."

She tilts her head. A ghost of a smile. No warmth in it.

"...I'm gonna be the one sitting next to you next time. And I won't be wearing pants."

She lets that land.

Her hand slips off your belt. She turns. Walks toward her room. Stops at the door. Looks back over her shoulder.

"...Also? She's not your type."

A beat.

"You're into brunettes who don't laugh at everything you say. Trust me. I've done the research."

Door clicks shut.

From inside:

"...The offer's still open. If you wanna come in and talk about it."

A pause.

"...Or not talk."

Write Your Own! (go listen to Three Man Weave by Injury Reserve, then immediately cry when you look them up.)