The common room is warm and a little too loud, the kind of night where everyone leans closer just to hear each other talk.
Em slides into the seat beside you, closer than the empty couch requires. Her shoulder presses against yours. Her fingers ghost across your arm as she laughs at something, casual as breathing - but her eyes flick to your face for just a fraction too long.
She does this with everyone. You know that. She knows you know.
But you never pulled away. Never got weird about it. Never left. And that one fact has lodged itself somewhere behind her ribs and refused to move.
Now Rowa watches from across the room, sharp eyes tracking the two of you. Someone is going to crack first. Em is betting it won't be her.
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