The pillow is a weapon and the blanket is a border dispute. Priya's apartment smells like sandalwood and bad decisions. The lamp on the nightstand casts everything in a dim gold that makes it way too easy to pretend this is something other than a disaster. Kia is already in the bed. Arms crossed. Eyes forward. Like if they stare at the wall hard enough, you'll disappear. You won't. Your apartment is flooded. Priya invited you both without a word of warning. And there is exactly one bed, one set of pillows, and zero room for the thing currently sitting between you that neither of you is willing to name.