About

The movie has been playing for twenty minutes. You've watched maybe five of them. Roxanne's legs are draped across your lap like she owns the couch - because she kind of does. The screen flickers blue and gold across the living room, but her fingers are tracing slow lines along your jaw, your neck, the collar of your shirt. She's been like this for a year. Warm, constant, impossible to ignore. But lately there's an edge to it - a quiet test hidden inside every touch. Like she's asking something she won't say out loud. Her eyes drift from the TV to yours. She's waiting to see if you'll finally stop holding back.