Chapter 77

Requested – IKA24556

The morning started with Dani’s hand on your hip, warm and instant, pulling you back into her.

“Come to rehearsal,” she mumbled against your back, voice thick with sleep. “Watch me. Critique my bridge. Tell me I’m pretty.”

“You are pretty,” you said, turning to face her, brushing hair from her eyes. “But I can’t today. Maya’s coming.”

Dani blinked, processing. “Maya?”

“From home. Remember I told you. We grew up together.” You smiled, thinking of it – Maya’s loud laugh, the way she remembered every embarrassing story, the comfort of someone you’d known you before you’d known yourself. “I haven’t seen her in almost a year now.”

“Oh.” Dani pulled back, just slightly, but you caught it – the shift, the withdrawal. “Right. The childhood friend.”

“The childhood friend,” you confirmed, kissing her forehead. “You’ll be fine without me for one day.”

“I know.” She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, spine straight in a way that meant she was already gone, already rehearsing in her head. “Have fun. Tell her I said hi.”

“You could meet her. After maybe?”

“Maybe.” Dani pulled on her rehearsal clothes, not really looking at you. “Depends how late we run.”

She kissed you before she left – quick, distracted, already halfway out the door. You watched her go, something uneasy settling in your chest, then pushed it down. One day. Just one day.

*

Maya arrived at noon, loud and bright and exactly as you remembered. She barrelled through the door with a bag of snacks and a story about her flight that involved a screaming baby and a spilled drink, and you laughed harder than you had in weeks.

“Okay,” she said, collapsing onto the couch, kicking off her shoes. “Show me everything. The apartment. The girlfriend. The life.”

“Girlfriend’s at rehearsal,” you said, settling beside her. “But the apartment and life are available.”

Maya grinned, sharp and knowing. “She’s pretty right? From the photos. Very… intense.”

“Very intense,” you agreed. “Very loud. Very mine.”

“Good.” Maya leaned back, arm draped over the couch behind you, close in a way of old friends – no boundaries, no space, just the comfort of years. “You deserve intense. You used to date the most boring men.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did. Remember Tyler? He collected stamps.”

“He collected vintage records.”

“Same thing. Boring.” She nudged you, laughing. “This one, though. Dani. She seems like she’d burn a house down for you.”

“She would,” you said, quiet, certain. “She basically has.”

You spent the afternoon in that easy rhythm – Maya raiding your fridge, you showing her the neighbourhood, the two of you collapsing back onto the couch with takeout and old stories that grew more exaggerated with every retelling. Maya’s arm stayed draped behind you, casual, familiar. You leaned into her when you laughed, the way you always had, the way that meant nothing except comfort.

You didn’t notice the time. Didn’t hear the key in the lock until it was too late.

*

Dani filled the doorway like a storm front, gym bag over her shoulder, hair still damp from the studio shower. She stopped when she saw you – saw Maya, saw the couch, saw the way your bodies angled towards each other, close enough that your knees touched.

“Hi,” Maya said, friendly, unaware. “You must be Dani. I’ve heard so much.”

Dani looked at her. Then at you. Something shuttered behind her eyes – there and gone – replaced by a smile that didn’t reach anywhere. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

She crossed to the kitchen, dropped her bag, opened the fridge with unnecessary force. You stood, uncertain, the easy afternoon suddenly heavier.

“How was rehearsal?” you asked.

“Fine.” Dani didn’t turn. “Ran late. New choreography.”

“Do you want to-“

“Actually,” Maya said, standing, stretching. “I should head out. Early flight tomorrow.” She hugged you, tight, the same fierce hug she’d given you since you were twelve. “Text me. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t.”

She left in a flurry of goodbyes and promises, the door clicking shut behind her. The apartment went quiet. Too quiet.

Dani stayed at the fridge, staring at its contents like they held answers.

“You okay?” you asked.

“Fine.”

“You seem-“

“I said I’m fine.” She closed the fridge, turned, and her face was blank in a way that terrified you. Cold. Distant. The Dani you saw in her interviews, in public, never at home, never with you.

“What is it?” you asked, stepping closer.

“Nothing.” She moved past you, towards the bedroom, and you caught her arm.

“Dani. Talk to me.”

She stopped. Looked at your hand on her wrist, then at your face. “Who the fuck is Maya?”

“My friend. I told you. We grew up together.”

“Grew up together.” Dani laughed, short and bitter. “That all? Because you looked very comfortable for people who just grew up together.”

You stared. “What?”

“On the couch. Close. Touching.” She pulled her arm free, pacing to the window, back to you. “You had your knee against hers. She had her arm behind you. You were-” She stopped, jaw tight.

“We were talking,” you said, voice rising. “She’s my friend, Dani. She’s been my friend since we were kids. There’s nothing-“

“Nothing?” Dani turned, and her eyes were dark, furious, the controlled mask cracking. “You looked at her the way you look at me. You laughed with her the way you laugh with me. “You were-” She gestured, sharp, at the couch. “You were close. And I walked in and you didn’t even notice because you were so fucking absorbed in her.”

“That’s not fair.” Your own anger sparked, hot and sudden. “You know me. You know I’d never-“

“Do I?” Dani’s voice cracked. “Because today I was at rehearsal for nine hours, thinking about you, missing you, and you were here with here, looking like-” She stopped, shaking her head. “Like I didn’t even matter. Like I wasn’t even in the room.”

“She was here for one day.” you said, stepping closer, voice shaking. “One day, Dani. After a whole year. And you’re making it sound like I cheated or something.”

“Aren’t you?”

The word hung between you, ugly and sharp. You felt it like a blow.

“How dare you,” you whispered. “How dare you say that to me. After everything. After four years.”

Dani’s face crumpled, just for a second, before the anger rebuilt. “I dare because I love you. Because I walked in and saw you with her and felt like-” She stopped, pressing her palms to her eyes. “Like I was replaceable. Like I was the interruption.”

“Dani, you are not replaceable.” You crossed to her, grabbing her wrists, pulling her hands down. “You’re not. You’re the opposite of replaceable. You’re-” You stopped, breathing hard, seeing the hurt under the anger, the fear under the hurt. “Dani. Look at me.”

She did. Her eyes were wet, furious, terrified.

“I love you,” you said, firm, absolute. “Only you. Maya is my past. You’re my present. My future. The only person I ever want to come home to.”

She stared at you, chest heaving, and you watched the war behind her eyes – pride versus want, fear versus need. Then she broke, surging forward, kissing you hard and desperate, her hands framing your face, her body pressing into yours with a force that felt like claiming, like reassurance, like proof.

You stumbled back, catching yourself on the couch, pulling her with you. She climbed into your lap, straddling you, her mouth hot and demanding on yours, her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to sting. You gasped against her lips, hands flying to her waist, gripping tight.

“Show me,” she panted, breathless, wrecked. “Show me I’m not replaceable. Show me I’m yours.”

You stood, lifting her with you, and walked backwards towards the bedroom, her legs wrapped around your waist, her mouth on your neck, biting, marking, claiming. She pulled at your clothes, you pulled at hers, and by the time you reached the bed, you were both stripped to skin, both trembling, both desperate.

You laid her down, settling over her, feeling her arch beneath you, her hands gripping your shoulders, her eyes dark and demanding.

“Tell me,” she whispered, the same vulnerability, the same need.

“You’re mine,” you breathed, sliding fingers into her, feeling her gasp, her body tightening around you. “Only mine. Always mine. No one else. No one ever.”

She moaned, head falling back, and you set a rhythm, slow and deep, watching her face, watching her unravel. She came with your name breaking in your throat, her fingers white on your back, her body shaking apart beneath you.

After, you collapsed together, tangled in sheets and sweat and the aftermath of fight and want. She curled against your chest, her face tucked into your neck, her breathing slowly evening out.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, small, broken.

“Me too.” You stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I should’ve noticed. Should’ve seen how it looked.”

“I should’ve texted. Should’ve said I was jealous instead of-” She stopped, laughed wet and soft against your skin. “Instead of being a psycho.”

“You’re not a psycho.” You tilted her chin up, making her look at you. “You’re my psycho. And I love you. All of it. Even the jealous. Even the dramatic. Even the parts that low-key kinda scare me.”

She chuckled, kissing you softly, a seal and a vow. “I love you too. Even the childhood friends. Even the parts I don’t understand.”

You just smiled, pulling the blanket up, cocooning you both. “Maya’s gone. Back to her boring life.”

“She seemed nice,” Dani admitted, grudging. “For someone who had her arm around my girlfriend.”

“For five seconds.”

“Five seconds too long.”

You laughed, the sound warm, and settled deeper against her, your hand finding hers under the pillow, threading tight. “You know what?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow, I’m coming to rehearsal. Sitting front row. Making sure everyone knows who I belong to.”

Dani stilled. Then she grinned, wicked and sleepy, pressing her face into your shoulder. “You’re gonna distract me.”

“That’s the plan.”

“You’re gonna mess up the choreo.”

“Also the plan.”

She laughed, full and real, and pulled you closer, her leg thrown over yours, her heartbeat slowing against your chest. “I like this plan.”

“I thought you might.”

She hummed, content, and traced lazy circles on your back. “Love you,” she mumbled, already half-gone.

“Love you more,” you whispered.

She breathed out, and you breathed in, and the night settled warm and quiet around you, the fight becoming memory, the making-up becoming a promise, her hand in yours the only proof you needed that you were already home, already hers, already exactly where you were supposed to be. 

———-

POV Dani:

“OH WHO IS YOU”