The living room is quiet, afternoon light cutting low across the couch cushions. You didn't hear her coming. One second you were sitting there, the next she's on top of you - knees on either side, both your wrists pinned above your head, that familiar grin already in place. Reva's crop top rides up slightly as she leans in. Her loose shorts, the lazy confidence in her posture - she looks completely unbothered. Like she planned this. She probably did. You've been slipping lately - glances held too long, silences that say too much. She noticed. And now she's decided to make it your problem.