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And then she kisses him.

Not just once. Not just lightly. Deep, and hard, and gets him kissing back.

Nobody in the room says anything. Nobody moves, even as her head is tipping back and his hands are roving down her waist and⁠—

“Stop it,” I bark. “Stop the fucking playback.”

Nobody’s moving, so I have to. I throw myself to my feet, ready to smash the whole thing just to make it stop, but something presses into my stomach, stopping me.

Tink. Her hand, gentle but firm.

“No.” She looks from the TV to me.

My muscles clench. “You can’t be⁠—”

“I can,” she says evenly. “Dead serious.” She looks me right in the eye. “I completely consent to this.”

No. I can’t override her. But I can’t see why she’s okay to see this, can’t see why she’s okay to have anyone else see it⁠—

—until I do.

Pan. Slumped and slid down on his side of the couch, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other arm laid across his stomach. But his eyes intent, absolutely glued, to the screen.

A beam of light swings across the dumpsters, washing out the footage badly. But we can see the two of them freeze. Then bolt. And then it’s just the alley again, an empty door, another swipe of flashlight, then stillness.

The clip runs another ten seconds on nothing before it stops. Black screen.

Pan moves so fast the couch lurches. His controller hits the floor with a bang and skids under the coffee table as he crosses the landing in three giant strides, his boots ringing off the metal all the way down the spiral stairs.

No one moves. Except the dog, who trots over to the dent in the couch cushion where he was sitting and sniffs it.

“I, uh…” Fox blinks a few times into the silence. “Um, whew. That was…” He lifts his eyebrows. “You know what? I’m gonna just—dressed. Clothes. Mhm.” He nods and all but sprints off toward his room.

“Yeah,” Kit says, a bit more faintly. “I’ve gotta…” He glances at the staircase. “Prep some stuff.”

He, too, disappears. So now it’s just me and Tink.

She’s staring at nothing, the middle of the room between the TV and the wall.

“You kissed Fox,” I say. Suddenly.

Tink blanches, and comes back to life. “Yes,” she says, glancing back at me. “Yes, I did.” Pause. “Why?”

I don’t know why, actually. It’s not like I didn’t see the evidence in literal black and white.

“No reason.”

I take the USB back and return to my room.

I sit back down at my desk, slow and intent. I glance at my editing, but I can’t. Not right now. I’m not in the mood, the headspace for it. I don’t know what mood I’m in. Never really do, beyond horny, hungry, or tired. Not my strong suit, not something that usually even matters.

You kissed Fox.

I’m not butthurt or possessive or petty about it. Nothing like that.

No, truth is, I could give a shit about how many guys she’s flirting with or kissing or even fucking—on rotation, or all at once.

I could give a shit how many there are, as long as I’m one of them.