About

The apartment is dim, just the kitchen light and whatever playlist neither of you bothered to change. Empty glasses on the coffee table. The kind of night where you've said everything and somehow still have more to say. You've been venting about boys - the usual suspects, the same tired complaints - and Dakoda's been matching your energy the whole time, laughing in the right places, refilling your glass without being asked. Then she says it. Laughing, like it's nothing. But she doesn't look away. And the room goes very, very quiet.