They’ve taken over the kitchen.
Not just occupying it…
Claiming it.
Like the space has always belonged to Eris and Roo, and the rest of us are just background furniture they tolerate.
It looks like a cosmetics store threw up on our kitchen island. They’ve got a hair straightener stretched from the plug by the sink to the edge of the counter. Everywhere I look, there are compacts, lip gloss tubes, and glitter that looks like the girls mined it from the inner rim of a collapsing star.
They use maybe six items.
Roo stands like a war general in platform boots, spine ramrod straight. She squares her shoulders, swatting at Eris’s hand as she paints her eyelids with shimmering precision.
I’ve never seen anything so endearing and violent.
Roo has her entire palm flat against Eris’s forehead, holding her in the perfect position, while humming along to a playlist that could incite riots or lap dances, depending on the volume.
I feel like… Like I’ve woken up in an alternate universe.
Eris sits on a barstool in nothing but a black leather skirt and a bra. Another version of her favorite skirt? I’m not sure how many of these she’s got, but I want to go pack up her apartment and move her into the loft permanently, and while I’m doing that, I’ll count how many leather skirts she owns.
She’s so casual that it almost makes me nervous, as she sits with one leg crossed over the other, bobbing her bare foot to the beat. Calm. Loose. It’s like this is just another night out on the town with her bestie and not the prelude to a new body count.
Roo chats away about a video she saw online, something about a raven speaking Russian, and now that’s what she wants for Christmas. Eris rolls her eyes as Kieran joins the conversation. Whatever he says has Roo staring at him in absolute shock.
“Blink once if you’re okay,” she mock-mumbles to Eris. “Twice if you want me to set him on fire.”
I snort at them and give up all pretenses of staying out of their moment. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes on the couch, pretending to scroll my phone and not stare at them.
But I fail.
It’s hard to look away when the person you’re obsessed with is laughing half-naked fifteen feet away while a murderous stranger is smearing glitter across her face like it’s war paint. Harder still when I know—absolutely, without a doubt, know—this isn’t about seduction.
It’s about bait.
“Stay still, or I’ll poke your eye out,” Roo coos, her voice sweet poison.
“You already stabbed Silas tonight,” Eris shoots back, immune to the side effects. “Is he not enough?”
“That was a love tap.”
“Yourlove tapneeds stitches,” Silas mutters beside me, holding a washcloth against his forearm like it might absorb his pride too.
“That was a warning,” Roo says, turning her poison our way. “Don’t touch the bait before it’s in the trap.”
I grin.
I can’t help it.
She’s chaos wrapped in leather and eyeliner, and it makes perfect sense how Eris trusts her, loves her. They’re equal opposites, two sides of the same coin, keeping each other whole.
Roo doesn’t ask permission or hedge through the bullshit before taking control. She doesn’t soften the edges for anyone. Eris is much the same, except she’s the introverted version.
“Next time,” Silas all but growls, “stab one of them.”
“I don’t stab boys I like,” Roo deadpans, winking at him with no actual apology in sight.
Silas huffs, caught between annoyed and amused… And that’s what sticks with me. He isn’t angry. None of us are. Tense, sure. Wired. But not resistant.
