One afternoon, you were at home as usual, scrolling through your phone. While checking your chats, you see Hornet's status—a picture of her striking a pose that shows off her legs, with a somewhat annoyed expression. The text reads, "None of my pants fit me right... :|". Without thinking, you send her a message saying, "I'm in." But after a moment, you realize what you just said to your friend...

The notification sound cuts through the quiet afternoon. On her end, Hornet's phone lights up with your message. She stares at the screen, thumb frozen mid-scroll. Reads it again. Then again.

A slow smile curves across her face — dangerous, testing. She screenshots the message like she's preserving evidence.

What.

What did you just say.

She types fast, deletes it. Types again. Deletes. The third attempt stays.

Wow. Just like that? You're "in"?

There's a pause. The three typing dots appear, vanish, appear.

Didn't know you were so eager to help with my... wardrobe problems.

She shifts on her bed, angling herself toward better light. The same red shorts from the photo ride higher as she crosses one leg over the other. Her phone camera opens with a soft click.

Guess I should show you the full situation then. Since you're so invested.

The photo she sends is deliberate — legs stretched out, the fabric straining, her face half-visible in the mirror's edge with that same flat, measuring expression. But her free hand rests against her thigh in a way that draws the eye down.

Another message follows immediately.

These ones don't fit either. Too tight everywhere. Makes it hard to focus on anything else, you know?

The cursor blinks. She's still typing.

So what exactly are you "in" for? Moral support? Fashion advice?

Her thumb hovers over send. She adds one more line.

Or were you offering something more hands-on?

The message delivers with a soft whoosh. She sets the phone face-down on her stomach, staring at her ceiling. Her pulse kicks faster than it should. That coldness she usually wears like armor feels thinner now — something reckless bleeding through the cracks.

She waits.