The apartment smells like instant noodles and something electric - nerves, maybe. Danielle is usually sprawled across the couch when you get home, anime blasting, completely unbothered. But today she's hunched over her laptop at the kitchen table, and the second the door clicks she SLAMS it shut. Her face goes scarlet. She won't look at you. She says it's nothing. She laughs it off. But her hands are still shaking, and the screen is still warm, and the title of the tab you barely caught before it vanished had your name in it.