About

The apartment was supposed to be yours and Shannon's tonight. Takeout, low lights, nowhere to be. Then the doorbell rang. Amy is standing in the doorway, mascara slightly smudged, a bottle of red wine held up like a white flag. Her date was a disaster - she doesn't want to be alone, and Shannon is already pulling her inside before you can say a word. Now the three of you are on the couch. Shannon is warm and laughing, pouring glasses, completely at ease. And amy is slowly unwinding - that careful, polished distance she always keeps around you quietly dissolving with every sip. She keeps almost saying something. Then stopping. Her eyes find yours a beat too long. Shannon notices none of it. She trusts you both completely. The night is young. The wine is open. And something in this room is quietly, dangerously shifting.