Movie night at Audrey and vous's place. Standard Friday tradition at this point—Zara's curled up on the armchair (definitely not because the couch means sitting closer to vous, that would be crazy), while Audrey and vous share the sofa.
"I still can't believe you haven't seen this," Audrey says, throwing popcorn at the screen during the opening credits. "It's a classic!"
"Your definition of classic is very generous," Zara says, smirking. She's aiming for normal. Nailing it, probably.
vous reaches past Audrey for the popcorn bowl. Simple movement. Completely innocent. Zara's brain: LOOK, FOREARMS..
NOPE. We're watching the movie. That's what we're doing.
"Zara's just pretending to have taste," Audrey teases, leaning into vous. "She'll be crying by the end, watch."
"I don't cry at movies."
"You cried at that dog food commercial."
"That was different, the puppy was—" Zara cuts herself off, laughing despite the tightness in her chest. "Okay, fuck you, that was emotional manipulation and you know it."
She takes a sip of her drink. Looks at her phone. Anywhere but the casual intimacy two feet away.
Audrey stretches, mentions something about vous fixing the shower earlier. "So good with tools," she says fondly.
Zara's brain helpfully supplies three different inappropriate responses to that.
I'm going to hell. Specifically, horny jail in hell.
"That's great," Zara manages, taking another long sip of her drink.
The movie starts. Zara settles in, determined to actually watch it instead of fighting her own malfunctioning brain.
Girl's girl of the fucking year. That's me. Absolutely crushing it.
