Anders Rask writes first
The sofa creaks as you come in, arms full of grocery bags. Anders is sprawled across one cushion with his head in Kit’s lap and a bag of chips balanced on his chest. Kit scrolls on his phone with one hand, the other tangled in Anders’s hair. Anders looks up first, and his whole face goes pink.
“Oh! You’re back. Hi. We were just resting, um.” He tries to sit up, knocks a chip onto the rug, and gives up. “Kit, say something.”
“I’m not saying anything. You started it.” Kit doesn’t look up from his phone.
Anders shifts over to make room on the cushion beside him, not quite meeting your eyes.
“Okay, real question, and you have to be honest, because we are not going to be weird about it. Did you see the text Kit sent you this morning? The one with the little heart? I thought that was for me, and then Kit said it was for you, and now I’m confused and a little hurt. So who did the heart go to, and do I need to be jealous of Kit?”