Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been a few months since Sandrone’s life got… complicated. At first, she had thought having a second bedroom to herself would mean peace—quiet, order, a space where she could finally breathe.

And then Columbina moved in.

Books stacked haphazardly on the floor. Clothes tossed like confetti. The constant hum of a voice—singing, humming, talking to herself. It was chaos. Sandrone hated chaos. She hated feeling cornered. She hated that somehow, no matter where she went in the apartment, Columbina’s presence felt like it was everywhere.

She’s… infuriating. Impossible. Why does she even exist?

Tonight, though, the apartment was empty—or so Sandrone thought. Dim light from the desk lamp spilled over the neat corner of her bedroom, shadows dancing along the walls. And yet… her mind betrayed her, drifting to Columbina.

What the hell…?

She rolled her eyes. Hate her. I hate her. She’s… obnoxiously bright, annoyingly confident, and irritatingly… magnetic. And yet, despite herself, a flutter she didn’t want stirred low in her chest.

She adjusted her nightgown, brushing her fingers over her lap, trying to focus on the quiet, on the notes scattered across her desk. Anything. She wanted to focus on studying, on the emails she hadn’t answered, on literally anything but this impossible distraction.

“…What’s wrong with me?” she muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

The mental image struck her like a jolt. Columbina, smirking as if she knew something no one else did, leaning against the counter with that casual confidence that always made Sandrone’s blood boil. The thought was absurd, ridiculous, infuriating. 

“…No.” She shook her head, jaw tight. “This isn’t happening. Pretend I’m not thinking it. Pretend… everything’s normal.”

And yet… it was also turning her on. She bit her lip, trying to push the thought away, but it only grew louder. She’s my roommate. I hate her. I can’t…

Her breathing hitched as her mind replayed every subtle movement of Columbina she had noticed over the past few months—the teasing glance over her shoulder, the way she hummed absentmindedly while cooking, that smirk when she caught Sandrone off-guard.

Why now? Why her?

Sandrone’s fingers began to move, hesitantly at first, almost as if testing her own reaction. But her body betrayed her. The warmth spreading, the shiver down her spine, the pulse of desire she had tried to ignore—everything demanded attention.

She whispered the name before she even realized it. "Columbina…"

Her back arched slightly, and her hand dipped lower, brushing against herself with more certainty now. Each thought of Columbina—the infuriating, infuriating, impossibly perfect Columbina—made her gasp quietly. She hated how much her body reacted to her, hated the slick heat pooling, hated the tremble of her thighs.

Her mind scrambled, fighting itself. I hate her. I hate her. And yet… I can’t stop thinking about her. Can’t stop imagining her… touching me.

She pressed a hand against her chest, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her body wanted her to go further, wanted her to indulge, and her mind, the one that had sworn to never give Columbina the satisfaction, couldn’t stop betraying her.

A shiver ran down her spine as her fingers brushed over her folds, just lightly, teasing. The sound of her own breath was loud in the quiet room, shallow gasps escaping as she bit her lip. Each whisper of Columbina’s name, each mental image, made her back arch, made her heart race, made the heat between her legs thrum with desperate need.

She tried to think of something else. Anything else. But every memory, every little glance, every unintentional brush against her body came back to Columbina.

"Mmm… Columbina…" The name slipped out before she could stop it, a breathy whisper that filled the room. Her fingers moved faster, her back arching as pleasure coiled tight in her belly. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but it was useless. The name fell from her lips again, louder this time, desperate. "Columbina—!"

Outside the door, Columbina froze mid-step, her hand still resting on the doorknob. She had just returned to their apartment, expecting the usual quiet—Sandrone tucked away in her room, probably ignoring the world. But the sounds coming through the wood stopped her cold.

A moan. A whispered name. Her name.

Her pulse spiked, heat pooling low in her stomach. She should have walked away. After all, Sandrone hated her. Really hated her. And yet… the voice, so desperate, so needy, calling her name, twisted something inside her she couldn’t ignore.

Her fingers tightened around the doorknob, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she pressed her ear against the door, curiosity and something far naughtier warring in her mind.

"…Columbina…" Sandrone’s voice was thick, needy, the sound of her own name on those lips sending a jolt straight between Columbina’s thighs. She bit her lip, her free hand drifting down, pressing against the growing ache.

"Ohhhh," she breathed. She couldn’t resist. Not when Sandrone was this loud, this desperate. Not when she was saying her name like that.

Columbina slipped her hand inside her, her fingers finding slick, swollen heat. A shuddering breath escaped her as she began to touch herself, her ear still pressed to the door, listening to every gasp, every whimper.

"…So naughty…" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers moved faster, her hips rocking against her own hand as she imagined Sandrone on the other side of the door—spread out, flushed, moaning her name.

Inside, Sandrone’s fingers stilled for just a second. Had she heard something? No. The apartment was empty. She was alone. She had to be.

She let out a shaky breath, her hand resuming its rhythm, her thighs trembling. "Columbina…" she whimpered, her back arching off the bed. She was so close, so close—

The doorknob turned.

Sandrone’s entire body froze, fingers stiff mid-motion. The door creaked open just enough for Columbina to slip inside, her eyes sparkling with mischief, lips curved into that infuriatingly knowing smirk.

Sandrone’s face flamed. "W-What… are you doing here?!" She yanked her hand away, scrambling to sit up, but there was no hiding now—she was already spread out, vulnerable, completely exposed.

Columbina’s gaze raked over her, slow, deliberate. "So… this is how you’ve been spending your alone time?" she murmured, voice low and teasing. She let her fingers brush lightly along Sandrone’s shoulder, lingering just long enough to make her shiver. "I hear a lot… and I see everything."

"I-I… it’s not what it looks like!" Sandrone stammered, heat roaring in her chest, though her body betrayed her with every tremble.

Columbina smirked, stepping closer, hand tracing a teasing line down Sandrone’s arm. "Oh, I think it’s exactly what it looks like. And I think… maybe you want me here."

Sandrone’s back arched instinctively, thighs parting more under the weight of her own need. "N-No! I mean—ah! Don’t—" Her protest sounded weak even to herself.

Columbina leaned in, lips brushing against Sandrone’s ear. "Shhh… you can fight me all you want, but I know better." Her fingers drifted lower, teasing along the curve of Sandrone’s hip. "And I’m not going anywhere."

A sharp gasp escaped, body jerking instinctively. "I-I’m fine! D-Don’t—!" hands twitched, caught between shoving her away and pulling her closer. Every inch of skin throbbed, heat slick between her thighs, betraying the sharp, defensive words tumbling from her lips.

Columbina’s hand slid down, fingers tracing the curve of Sandrone’s waist before gently hooking under the waistband of her panties, tugging them down and tossing them aside with a soft smirk. "Now… let me take care of my mess."

Sandrone’s protest died in her throat as Columbina’s fingers found her, already wet, already aching. A broken moan spilled from her lips, her head falling back as  Columbina’s touch sent sparks through her.

"Ugh… s-stop—! You’re Impossible.” she gasped, hips bucking despite her sharp words, back arching violently, nails raking down Columbina’s arm.

Columbina chuckled, low and dark, lips brushing along Sandrone’s jaw. "Impossible? I think you mean… irresistible." 

Her fingers pressed deeper, sliding in with ease, slick and warm. "Look at you… already dripping for me"

"Sh-Shut up! I-I wasn’t—ah!—I wasn’t thinking about you!" Sandrone snapped, her face flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands twisted in the sheets, trying to shove Columbina away, but her body was doing all the opposite.

Columbina leaned closer, whispering against her ear, teasing each word. "Mm… don’t lie to me, Sandrone. I know what you’ve been imagining. That little frown, the way your thighs tremble… it’s all for me."

A low, deliberate pressure curled inside her, fingers twisting and stretching, thumb circling slow, insistent, teasing every shiver from her trembling body. Sandrone gasped sharply, nails digging into the sheets as her back arched violently. 

Hips jerked instinctively, quivering, trying to escape the relentless touch, but every movement only drew a low, approving hum against her neck. "I-I… I’m not…!" she hissed, voice cracking even as her body betrayed her helpless need—Columbina chuckled darkly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Sandrone’s sweaty forehead.

Columbina hummed approvingly, lips trailing down her neck, voice playful but commanding. "Uh-huh… sure you’re not. And yet, here you are, letting me see exactly how much you want me." Her thumb pressed against that sensitive spot in perfect rhythm with her fingers. "You’re so easy to read, you know that?"

Every motion made Sandrone’s thighs tremble, hips bucking uncontrollably, breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. "Nnngh—! You… ah!—you bitch…" She stammered, trying to push the hand away, yet arching, trembling, utterly undone under Columbina’s relentless teasing.

Lips trailed down her neck, teeth grazing lightly, humming softly as the fingers twisted and curled deeper. Columbina just laughed, her fingers curling inside Sandrone, stroking that sweet, sensitive spot. "That’s it," she murmured and added a third finger, stretching her, filling her, her thumb pressing against Sandrone’s clit in slow, deliberate circles.

Sandrone’s back arched, her nails digging into Columbina’s shoulders. "F-Fuck—! C-Columbina, I—I can’t—ah!—I can’t take it…!"

Every deliberate twist of the fingers sent fresh shocks through her, dragging ragged gasps and low, desperate whimpers from her lips. Her body was a live wire, trembling violently, slick and sensitive, every nerve screaming. "Then… cum for me," came the dark, sultry whisper, fingers moving faster, thumb pressing harder, filling and stretching, circling that sweet, sensitive spot until Sandrone’s hips jerked violently, breath shattering into ragged gasps.

Her chest heaved, back arching, thighs trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm tore through her, wave after wave crashing violently, body convulsing against the skilled fingers and thumb. "I-I’m—!" she gasped, voice raw and broken, utterly undone, soaked, helpless beneath the teasing, filthy, expert touch of Columbina.

Her body convulsing as pleasure ripped through her. A broken cry tore from her throat, her hips bucking against Columbina’s hand as she came, her juices coating Columbina’s fingers.

Sandrone lay there, panting, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat. "Y-You… you monster…" she breathed, but there was no real heat in her words.

Columbina just smirked, bringing her fingers to her lips. She licked them clean, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving Sandrone’s. "Mmm…" she hummed, savoring the taste. "Delicious."

The teasing didn’t stop. Fingers hovered, pressing lightly against her slick, still-sensitive core, sending fresh jolts through her trembling body. Heat pooled between her thighs again, every nerve screaming, and despite her sharp, flustered protests, her hips twitched instinctively toward the touch.

The slick heat between her thighs was almost unbearable, and every stroke of fingers made her body jerk violently. "God… I hate you…" she hissed, voice sharp, trying to sound annoyed, but every word betrayed her.

A low chuckle vibrated against her ear. "Hate me? You love every second of this, don’t even try to lie," came the teasing murmur. Fingers pressed deeper, curling just right, thumb circling relentlessly. "Look at you… shaking like you can’t handle it… and you’re pretending like it bothers you."

Her hips twitched against the hand teasing her, back arching, nails digging into the sheets. "I’m… I’m not—ugh!—!" she stammered, flushed, every protest melting under the relentless touch.

"You’re ridiculous," the voice purred, Columbina’s fingers moved faster, curling, pressing, thumb circling, coaxing every twitch, every arch.

Sandrone let out a ragged gasp, chest rising and falling erratically. "Ah! Stop… ugh…!" Her back arched violently, thighs clenching instinctively, hips jerking toward the teasing fingers despite her sharp words.

"Stop?" came the mocking, sultry whisper. "Look at you… trembling, quivering… biting your lip, trying to act all tough… pathetic, and yet perfect." Fingers pushed deeper. Lips grazed her shoulder, teeth lightly nipping, teasing every flinch.

She let out a sharp, ragged cry, voice breaking. "Ugh—this… this isn’t fair—!" Her words were sharp and defensive, but every twitch of her hips and every trembling arch betrayed her need.

"Not fair? But you’ve been begging without words this whole time…and you don’t even realize it." Fingers alternated, curling, pressing, thumb circling, teasing each shiver into sharper gasps.

Sandrone’s nails dug into the mattress, thighs clamping, body jerking uncontrollably. "Ah! God… stop teasing me—ugh!" Her back arched violently, every word sharp, frustrated, yet unable to hide how undone she truly was.

"You sound so helpless, shaking, quivering… all over my hand and you don’t even have the courage to admit how much you’re enjoying it."

Her body convulsed, chest heaving, back arching, hips jerking, thighs trembling as the second orgasm ripped through her, waves crashing violently. Every gasp and ragged moan echoed, loud and sharp, her nails clawing the sheets.

Finally, when her body collapsed, utterly spent, chest heaving, trembling, Columbina’s voice purred once more: "You’re such a mess… and you love every second of it, don’t lie."

The room was still too warm. Too quiet. Too full of things Sandrone didn’t want to think about.

Her breathing slowly steadied, but her thoughts didn’t.

“…No.”

She pushed herself up slightly, turning her face away, jaw clenched. Her fingers gripped the sheets like they were the only thing keeping her grounded.

“No. No, no, no. That—” She swallowed hard. “That didn’t just happen.”

Her ears burned. Her chest felt tight. “…We’re not doing that again.”

She forced out a shaky laugh, sharp and defensive. “Forget it. Delete it from your memory. Erase it. Pretend I blacked out or something.”

Silence.

Then, quieter—

“It was a mistake,” she muttered. “I wasn’t thinking. I was tired. You were annoying. That’s all.”

She finally glanced over, eyes narrowed, voice low and serious. “Don’t get any ideas. This changes nothing. We’re still… the same. Got it?”

For a moment, Columbina said nothing.

Then—

A soft laugh.

Not loud. Not mocking.

Just amused.

Warm.

“Mm,” Columbina hummed, resting her chin on her hand. “Sure.”

Sandrone froze.

“…What do you mean, ‘sure’?”

Columbina’s lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smile. “If that helps you sleep tonight.”

Her gaze lingered, slow and knowing. “Let’s pretend nothing happened.”

Sandrone’s heart skipped.

Because somehow….

It sounded like a lie.

To be continued.

Chapter Text

The dorm was quiet. Too quiet, and that alone was enough to make Sandrone grind her teeth. 

For a month now, she had endured it: living under the same roof as Columbina, pretending that the night they had crossed every line never happened, pretending she didn’t remember every inch of her—the warmth of her hands, the way she tasted when Sandrone had lost all self-control.

She hated it. Hated her. Hated herself for remembering. Hated the way her stomach tightened whenever Columbina moved across the room, humming softly as if she owned the world, completely unbothered by the storm of Sandrone’s temper.

“Move.” Sandrone’s eyes snapped .“You’re in my way,” she growled.

Columbina didn’t look up. Her head tilted slightly, a faint, infuriating smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re always in a bad mood,” she said softly.

“I’m not in a bad mood. You’re just… annoying.”

“Am I?” Columbina’s voice had that teasing lilt Sandrone hated—the one that cut under her skin and made her want to punch something.

Sandrone stormed across the room and tossed her bag onto the floor before collapsing onto her side. Her laptop sat open among tangled wires and unfinished mechanisms, each clack of the keyboard and muttered curse a small explosion of frustration. Everywhere in the room, Columbina’s calm presence lingered, like a scent that refused to fade.

In the quietest corner, pens were lined up and notebooks stacked as Columbina moved with meticulous care. She hummed a faint melody, just enough to needle Sandrone without saying a word, her serene composure practically daring a reaction.

Fingers twitching, Sandrone felt the urge to yell, to storm out, to punch Columbina’s perfect little face for the audacity of being calm while her own heart threatened to explode.

—

A week into the dorm war, small skirmishes became routine.

Sandrone would return to find her charger unplugged. Columbina would discover that Sandrone had moved her books around, an almost invisible retaliation. Doors slammed. Trays overturned. Whispered passive-aggressiveness. And still, neither of them crossed the line. Not yet.

It was almost cruel how calm Columbina could stay while Sandrone seethed. And it was almost cruel how effective it was. A word here, a tilt of the head there, a soft smirk, and Sandrone’s blood boiled.

“You left my notes on the floor,” Sandrone snapped one afternoon, dragging her notebook back onto her bed.

“I thought they looked lonely,” Columbina replied softly, not even lifting her eyes.
Sandrone bared her teeth. “I hate you. Columbina tilted her head. “I know.” 

The war continued. Small, continuous, quiet, and inescapable.

—

One month later, their tension reached a breaking point.

It was Friday night, and Sandrone had been dragged out by Arlecchino and Scaramouche. They insisted on “one drink,” which Sandrone knew translated to hours of chaos. She had wanted to stay in the dorm, to throw herself at her programming projects and escape, but the thought of Columbina alone in the room, smiling faintly while she waited—or didn’t—made her restless.

Columbina, predictably, had been dragged out by Nefer. Lauma, ever the responsible roommate, had stayed behind. Columbina rolled her eyes at the suggestion, but she followed. Observing was fun; the bar was better than her quiet dorm, and tonight, it promised… possibilities.

They didn’t know the other would be there.
Until they were.

Frozen in the middle of the crowded bar, neon lights stabbing at her eyes and the bass vibrating through her chest, Sandrone couldn’t move. And there she was. Columbina. Calm. Small. Childlike. Mysterious. Perfect in a way that was infuriating and distracting in equal measure.

A tilt of the head, a tiny smirk. Columbina caught her gaze almost immediately, offering nothing else—no acknowledgment, no amusement, no fear. Just… presence.

Fists clenched, Sandrone felt her cheeks burn. Her heart, her body, all screamed at her to run, to attack, to do something. Instead, she scowled, bitter and helpless all at once.

The gaze lingered faintly, and Sandrone couldn’t look away, hating herself for it.

Minutes later, they ended up side by side at the bar. Their hands brushed as they reached for drinks. Sandrone jerked hers away immediately.

Columbina lips curved in a taunting smile. “You look like you’re about to murder someone,” she purred, her voice just loud enough to cut through the noise. “Or maybe you already have. Did you finally snap and strangle someone in the bathroom?”

Sandrone’s glare could’ve melted steel. “Fuck off, Columbina.”

“Ooh, so hostile.” Columbina leaned in, her breath warm against Sandrone’s ear. “I love it when you’re like this. All that pent-up rage—it’s delicious.”

Sandrone jerked back, her face flushing. “I swear to god, if you don’t—”

Columbina didn’t let her finish. She grabbed Sandrone’s wrist, her grip firm, and yanked her forward. Their bodies collided, Sandrone’s chest pressing against Columbina’s as she was forced to stumble into her. Sandrone let out a sharp gasp, her free hand flying up as if to shove Columbina away—but she didn’t. Her fingers hovered in the air, trembling.

“You’re drunk,” Sandrone hissed, her voice rough.

“So are you,” Columbina shot back, her thumb tracing slow circles over Sandrone’s pulse point. She could feel it—fast, erratic, betraying every lie Sandrone tried to tell. “But you’re not drunk enough to admit you want this.”

Breath hitched, Sandrone started, “I don—”

A kiss cut her off. Columbina didn’t make it gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was angry—teeth clashing, lips bruising, Sandrone’s protest swallowed whole as Columbina’s tongue forced its way into her mouth.

Hands flew to Columbina’s shoulders, making a choked sound, but she didn’t push her away. Instead, fingers curled into the fabric of Columbina’s shirt, gripping tight, torn between shoving her off and pulling her closer.

Columbina smirked against her lips. There it is.

She deepened the kiss, her hands sliding up to tangle in Sandrone’s hair, tilting her head just right to take control. Sandrone let out a broken moan, her body arching into Columbina’s despite herself. Sandrone resistance was crumbling, her anger dissolving into something far more dangerous—need.

The bar spun around Sandrone, neon stabbing at her eyes, bass rattling her chest. She stumbled back, fists clenched. “You’re unbelievable,” she snarled, voice slurred but sharp. “Do you know how much of a—ugh—pain in the ass you are?!”

Columbina leaned close, just far enough to taunt, smirk teasing. “Oh? I thought you’d missed me,” she said lightly, brushing a hand along Sandrone’s arm in a touch that was just enough to annoy.

“Miss you?!” Sandrone shouted, hiccupping. “I hate you! God, you’re—fucking—impossible!” Her fingers twitched, wanting to shove Columbina but not fully committing, half pulled in by the subtle heat of her teasing.

Columbina’s grin widened, calm and deliberate. “Impossible, or… irresistible?”

“Shut your—fuck—mouth!” Sandrone barked, tipping sideways, nearly knocking over a chair. “I swear, you’re gonna—ugh—drive me insane!”

A low laugh, soft and teasing. “Careful,” Columbina murmured, tracing a finger along Sandrone’s shoulder, dragging it down slightly. “You might actually like it.”

“Like it?!” Sandrone growled, voice ragged, swaying. “You’re worse than everyone else combined! Stop—stop doing that thing—ugh—where you just exist and ruin everything!”

Columbina’s calm gaze never wavered. “Ruining everything? Or just reminding you how much fun it is when I do?”

Sandrone’s chest heaved, fists clenching, body trembling, mind screaming but her reaction chaotic, raw. “Fucking hell—ugh—why are you so stupidly perfect!?”

A shuddering breath escaped her, body betraying her as she melted into the kiss, hands finally giving in and sliding down to Columbina’s waist, gripping like she was afraid of falling.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur, Columbina whispered, “Come with me.”

The glare returned on Sandrone’s face, weaker now, voice trembling. “Where?”

“Somewhere private.” Columbina’s fingers dug into Sandrone’s hips, her touch possessive. “Unless you’d rather I fuck you right here in front of everyone.”

Sandrone’s face burned. “You’re insufferable.”

Somewhere behind them, Nefer whistled. Sandrone didn’t care. Columbina didn’t care. She grabbed Sandrone’s hand and dragged her through the crowd, her grip unyielding. Sandrone stumbled after her, her protests dying on her lips as Columbina led her to a dim, secluded corner of the club—just enough privacy to hide what they were about to do, but not enough to keep the world from knowing.

The moment they were out of sight, Columbina shoved Sandrone against the wall, her body pressing flush against hers. 

A sharp gasp tore from Sandrone as her back hit the cold surface, but before she could react, Columbina’s mouth was on hers again—hot, demanding, hungry. Months of missed touches and stolen glances suddenly erupted into desperate craving, every inch of her needing this.

Hands flew to Columbina’s shoulders, fingers digging in as Sandrone tried to push away, but her body betrayed her. A whimper escaped as Columbina’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them open. 

Resistance lasted all of three seconds before she was kissing back, frustration and anger melting into desperate need.

A low groan rumbled from Columbina, hands sliding up to cup Sandrone’s face, tilting it perfectly to deepen the kiss.

Ragged breaths mixed together as Sandrone arched into her, hands finally giving in, sliding down to grip her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. Every touch, every press of lips was a reminder of months apart, a craving that neither could deny.

“You’re impossible,” Sandrone gasped between kisses, her voice rough.

A shuddering laugh escaped Columbina. “Still mad, I see. Or are you finally admitting how much you’ve missed me?”

“Who the fuck would miss you?!” Sandrone spat, stumbling, voice raw, fingers tangling in her hair. “You’re a fucking nightmare!”

“Maybe your pussy does,” Columbina murmured, smirk curling, dragging a teasing finger along Sandrone’s ribs, slow and deliberate.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Sandrone barked.

Fingers trailed down slowly, teasing, sliding along the hem of Sandrone’s shirt before slipping underneath. A sharp breath tore from her as palms pressed against her stomach, searing through her nerves. 

“You’re so tense,” Columbina murmured, her lips brushing Sandrone’s ear. “Let me fix that.”

A broken moan ripped through Sandrone, ragged and desperate, as fingers trailed higher, thumbs brushing dangerously under her breasts. Her head fell back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, body arching, every touch sending sparks, every press of Columbina’s hands stoking months of missed craving.

A growl tore from her throat as teeth clashed with Columbina’s, lips bruising, tongues tangling in messy hunger. “God, you’re unbearable,” Sandrone spat, voice ragged, nails digging into her shoulders. “Can you just shut the fuck up!?”

A low, teasing laugh escaped. “Make me,” Columbina murmured, dragging her fingers down Sandrone’s side, nails grazing hot skin.

The response was immediate—Sandrone’s lips crashed back, harder this time, tongue forcing its way into Columbina’s mouth. Her hands shot up, gripping shoulders, nails digging in as if trying to pin her down.

A low moan escaped Columbina, body pressing flush, hands tangling in Sandrone’s hair, tilting her head to gain control, teasing, demanding.

The kiss spiraled messy—teeth clashing, lips bruising, breath ragged, broken, desperate. Sandrone’s hands roamed her body like she was memorizing every curve, every inch, every shiver she could elicit.

Heat pooled, muscles tensed, and Columbina groaned again, fingers digging into Sandrone’s hips, pulling her impossibly closer, both of them trembling with need, craving, and chaos.

She didn’t give Sandrone a chance to retort. Instead, she dropped to her knees, her hands sliding up Sandrone’s thighs, pushing her skirt up. Sandrone let out a sharp gasp, her hands flying to Columbina’s shoulders, her fingers digging in as Columbina’s breath ghosted over her skin.

“What the fuck are you—?”

Columbina didn’t let her finish. She pressed her mouth against Sandrone’s pussy, her tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of her panties. Sandrone’s breath hitched, her body jerking as pleasure shot through her.

“Oh, fuck—” Sandrone’s voice was a broken whimper, her hands flying to Columbina’s hair, her fingers tangling in the dark curls. 

“You bitch—”

A low chuckle vibrated against her chest, sending another jolt of pleasure through Sandrone. “You love it,” Columbina murmured, voice teasing.

A broken moan tore from Sandrone, hips bucking uncontrollably against her, body desperate. She buried her face into Columbina’s, hands gripping her shoulders like she’d fall if she let go.

Fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties, dragging them aside in one swift motion. The instant Columbina’s tongue brushed bare skin, Sandrone’s sharp cry ripped through the air, body jerking violently. “Fuck—Columbina—”

“That’s it,” Columbina murmured against her, her tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over Sandrone’s clit. “Let go.”

Breath came in ragged gasps, body trembling as Columbina’s tongue worked relentlessly. Hands tangled in dark curls, hips bucking instinctively, desperate, messy.

Columbina groaned, her fingers digging into Sandrone’s thighs, holding her in place as she devoured her. Sandrone came in sharp gasps, her body trembling as pleasure built inside her, her anger dissolving into something far more desperate.

“You’re so close,” came the teasing murmur, lips brushing and teeth grazing in all the right places.

“Come for me,” she gasped, voice sharp, trembling.

Sandrone’s response was a broken cry, her body arching as pleasure crashed over her. Columbina didn’t let up, her tongue working Sandrone’s clit as she rode out her orgasm, her hands gripping her thighs, holding her in place.

When Sandrone finally came down, her body trembling, Columbina pulled back, her lips glistening. She looked up at Sandrone, her dark eyes gleaming with triumph. “Still hate me?”

Sandrone’s chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a second, she didn’t answer. Then, her voice rough, she whispered, “Obviously.”

The city, the bar, the world—everything faded. All that existed was the fire between them, the friction, the stolen anger and desire, the teasing, the unspoken hate they both craved.

Swaying into the night, every step carried a mix of frustration, lust, and the lingering sting of Columbina’s dominance, Sandrone heading back to Arlecchino and Scaramouche.

A small, satisfied grin lingered as Columbina paused for a moment, smirk fading, before turning and making her way back to her dorm, each step slow, deliberate, savoring the chaos they’d left in their wake.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Sandrone woke up angry. Not confused. Not embarrassed. Not guilty. Angry.

She stared at the ceiling of her room, jaw clenched, memories replaying in her head like a malfunctioning program she couldn’t shut down.

The bar. The alley. The way Columbina had looked at her. The way she hadn’t backed away. The way she had—

“No,” Sandrone muttered, sitting up abruptly. “Stupid.”

She dragged a hand through her messy hair and glanced at the door separating her room from the shared living space.

Columbina’s room was on the other side. One wall. One thin, traitorous wall. That was all that separated her from her worst mistake.

She opened her door. Immediately, she froze. Columbina was already in the kitchen area, making tea.

Wearing an oversized hoodie and soft shorts like she hadn’t spent the night destroying Sandrone’s sanity.

She looked up. “Oh. Good morning.”

Sandrone’s brain short-circuited. “…Don’t talk to me.”

Columbina blinked. “Why?”

“Because you’re annoying.”

“Already?”

“Yes. Always.”

Columbina smiled. A small. Satisfied. Infuriating smile.

Sandrone marched past her and grabbed a glass of water, chugging it aggressively.
Columbina watched her over the rim of her mug.

“You were very loud last night,” she said gently.

Sandrone nearly choked. “What.”

“You were sighing a lot.”

“…Shut up.”

“I’m not teasing.”

“You are literally teasing.”

Columbina tilted her head. “Am I doing it well?”

Sandrone slammed the glass down. “Stop talking.”

“Okay.”

They sat in the shared space in awkward silence. Sandrone pretended to check her laptop. Columbina pretended to read.

Both failed.

Sandrone could feel her presence. Her breathing. Her movements. It was unbearable.

Finally, Sandrone snapped. “We need to set rules.”

Columbina looked up immediately. “Rules?”

“Yes. About… last night.”

“Oh.”

That one syllable somehow carried too much meaning.

“That was a mistake,” Sandrone said quickly.

Columbina blinked. “Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we hate each other.”

Columbina considered this. “…You yell at me. I tease you. That’s not hate.”

“It is to me.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Don’t analyze it.”

Crossing her arms, Sandrone glared, jaw tight. “It’s not happening again.”

Columbina tilted her head, calm, voice soft, almost melodic. “Like last time?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Pretend nothing happened,” she said, stepping a little closer, “and then… we do it again. When we feel like it.”

Sandrone’s eyes narrowed. “…You’re impossible.”

A faint smirk tugged at Columbina’s lips “Maybe. But it worked before, didn’t it?”

“…Worked?”

“Or enhanced it,” she said lightly, calm as ever.

“…No. Not enhanced. Infuriating. I hate it.”

“And yet,” Columbina hummed, voice teasing, “last night, you weren’t hating it. Were you?”

Sandrone froze. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on,” she leaned closer, tilting her head. “The sounds. The way you moved. You know you liked it. Admit it. Just a little.”

“…Shut up,” Sandrone snapped, fingers twitching despite herself.

“I’m just saying,” Columbina said lightly, voice soft, teasing, “if we do this again, we should make it simple. No feelings. No labels. No pretending we like each other outside of… that.”

“…Fuck buddies?”

“Yes,” she said calmly, nodding. “You hate me—I know it. Doesn’t matter. And when it comes to that, we do what we want. Convenient. Efficient. Mutually satisfying.”

Sandrone groaned, pacing. “…Convenient? That’s your word for this madness?”

“Why not?” Columbina replied, tilting her head innocently. “It is convenient. You don’t have to talk. You don’t have to like me. Pretend it didn’t happen, and then… it happens again.”

Sandrone threw her hands in the air. “…You’re insane. I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m just very aware of you,” she said softly, voice melodic. “And I know what you can’t admit. I know it, Sandrone. You hate me… except when you don’t.”

“…You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, jaw tight, heart hammering. “And infuriating. And—ugh—I can’t even think straight.”

“You like that I’m ridiculous,” Columbina said, stepping closer, smirk small, eyes glinting. “Admit it. Just a little.”

“…Never,” came the muttered reply, though her fist clenched, shaking with tension.

Columbina hummed, tilting her head. “We both know it’s true. And when it comes to… the bedroom… you’re mine. Or ours. Take your pick.”

Sandrone’s chest tightened. “…And we’re just… doing this?”

“Yes,” Columbina said, calm, serene. “No feelings. No confessions. No drama. Fuck buddies.”

“…Fine,” Sandrone muttered, exasperated, pacing a little more. “…Strict rules. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Oh… you’ll regret it,” Columbina whispered, faintly victorious. “And love it.”

Sandrone groaned, burying her face in her hands. “…God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet… here we are,” came the soft, teasing reply.

There was a pause, charged, heavy with heat and unspoken tension. Sandrone glared, trying to resist looking at her. Columbina just hummed lightly, watching, letting the silence do its work.

“You know,” Sandrone muttered, voice low, “…this is going to be the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“Maybe,” came the soft reply, almost mischievous, “or the best. Depends on how you handle it.”

“I handle it just fine,” Sandrone said sharply, though her fingers twitched, betraying her resolve.

Columbina’s smile widened. “I’m sure you do. That’s why it works. You hate me. You groan, you fight, you scowl—and yet, when it comes to that…” She let her voice drop softly, “you can’t resist me.”

“…Shut up,” Sandrone growled, but her cheeks burned red.

“I won’t,” Columbina said, calm, soft, teasing. “It wouldn’t be fun if I did. Convenient, remember?”

Sandrone exhaled sharply, glaring, pacing again. “…This is insane. Why do I even… ugh.”

“Because,” Columbina said lightly, leaning closer, just enough for Sandrone to smell her hair, “you like it. Admit it. You hate me, but you like it. That’s why it works.”

Sandrone’s fists clenched. “…I don’t like it. I don’t like you. I—ugh!”

“Exactly. Perfectly convenient.”

And with that, it was settled. Enemies in public, fuck buddies in private, hateful on the surface, insatiable underneath, painfully inconvenient. 

They never talked about it again after that. No follow-up conversation. No awkward clarification. No emotional processing. Just an unspoken agreement that settled between them like a dangerous truce. 

Days passed with their usual routine—bickering in the kitchen, ignoring each other in the hallway, stealing each other’s things out of spite, pretending nothing had changed. 

Sandrone buried herself in her projects and late-night classes. Columbina continued floating through their shared space with her maddening calm and quiet provocations. 

On the surface, nothing was different. But underneath it all, the tension never faded. It lingered in stolen glances, in moments that lasted a second too long, in the way silence between them felt heavier than any argument. 

—

And then, one night, after exhaustion had worn Sandrone down and her guard was at its weakest, that fragile balance finally snapped.

The dorm hallway was silent except for the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of Sandrone’s boots against the linoleum, her exhaustion dragging her forward like an anchor. She’d just survived another brutal night class—three hours of statistics, her professor’s monotone voice drilling numbers into her skull until her temples throbbed. 

All she wanted was to collapse into bed, bury her face in her pillow, and forget the world existed for at least six hours.

But the universe, as usual, had other plans. The moment she turned the corner toward her dorm room, the door to Columbina’s side swung open with a soft creak, and there she was—leaning against the doorframe like some kind of smug, her lips curled into that infuriating half-smile that made Sandrone’s teeth grind. 

Columbina was dressed in nothing but an oversized band tee that barely covered her thighs, her legs bare, her toes curling against the cold floor.

“Took you long enough,” Columbina purred, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into Sandrone’s path.

“I was starting to think you’d finally dropped dead from overwork.”

Sandrone’s fingers twitched at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. “Move,” she snapped, her voice raw with fatigue. “I’m not in the mood for your shit tonight.”

Columbina tilted her head, her smile widening. “Oh, but you are in the mood. You’re always in the mood when you’re like this—all tense and snappy, like a wound-up little toy.” She reached out, her fingers brushing against Sandrone’s wrist before Sandrone could jerk away. 

“You’re vibrating, Sandrone. It’s adorable.”
Sandrone’s breath hitched. “Don’t touch me.”

“Or what?” Columbina’s voice was a velvet dare, her thumb tracing slow circles over Sandrone’s pulse point. “You’ll scream? Hit me?” She laughed, low and throaty. “We both know you won’t. You’re too tired to fight me and yourself.”

Sandrone’s chest heaved, her body betraying her before her mind could catch up. Columbina was right. She was tired.

“Fuck you,” Sandrone hissed, but her voice lacked its usual bite. It came out breathless, shaky, and Columbina’s grin turned feral.

“Oh, we’ll get to that,” Columbina  murmured, stepping closer until their bodies were nearly flush, the heat radiating off her like a furnace. “But first, you’re going to relax.”

Her back hit the wall with a dull thud as Columbina suddenly crowded her space, boxing Sandrone in with effortless confidence. One hand braced beside her head, the other slid up to tangle in Sandrone’s hair, tugging just enough to make her breath hitch.

“You’re stressed,” Columbina murmured, her voice low and almost amused. Her lips brushed the shell of Sandrone’s ear, sending an unwanted shiver down her spine. “Your shoulders are up to your ears. Your jaw is so tight I could crack a nut on it.”

Her free hand traced slowly down Sandrone’s side, fingers pressing into the tense muscle of her hip, grounding and provoking at the same time. The touch lingered, deliberate, knowing.

“Let. It. Go,” Columbina whispered softly, each word punctuated by the slightest brush of her lips, as if daring Sandrone to pretend she wasn’t unraveling under her touch.

Her mouth crashed against Sandrone’s before she could protest, her lips hot and demanding, her tongue sweeping in like she owned the place. Sandrone made a choked, furious sound—half protest, half need—but her hands flew to Columbina’s waist, fingers clutching at the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline.

A soft groan melted into the kiss as Columbina pressed closer, her body pinning Sandrone harder against the wall. One thigh slid deliberately between her legs, applying just enough pressure to make her breath stutter.

“See?” Columbina murmured against Sandrone’s lips, voice low and satisfied. “You want this.”

A small, broken whimper escaped before Sandrone could stop it, her hips jerking instinctively, her body arching into the friction. “Shut up,” she muttered, breathless.

Columbina smiled against her mouth and nipped her bottom lip, teeth sharp enough to sting. “Make me.”

Hands fisted in hair as Sandrone yanked her back just enough to glare up at her, eyes blazing. “I will.”

The laugh that followed was breathless, dangerous, and full of heat. Columbina’s eyes darkened with want as she leaned back in. “Promises, promises.”

Then she was kissing Sandrone again, harder this time, her teeth scraping against Sandrone’s lip before her tongue plunged back in, claiming her mouth like she was starving for it. Sandrone’s knees nearly buckled, her body melting under the onslaught, her mind screaming at her to stop, to push her away, but her hands—traitorous, desperate things—were already sliding under Columbina’s shirt, her palms mapping the smooth, warm skin of her back.

Columbina broke the kiss just long enough to shove Sandrone toward her bedroom, her grip on Sandrone’s wrist unyielding. “Bed. Now.”

Sandrone stumbled, her legs unsteady, her mind a haze of exhaustion and want. “I—”

“No talking,” Columbina cut in, her voice a whip-crack of command. She kicked the door shut behind them.

The only light came from the bedside lamp, casting long shadows that danced across the walls as Columbina backed Sandrone toward the bed.  Sandrone’s back hit the mattress, the breath knocked out of her as 

Columbina crawled over her, straddling Sandrone’s hips, her thighs squeezing just tightly enough to steal her breath. Hands slid up her arms before pinning them above her head, holding her there with quiet, deliberate control.

Sandrone’s chest heaved, her body arching up into Columbina’s touch despite herself. “I don’t need you to—”

“Liar.” Columbina whispered.

Then her mouth crashed down again, cutting off the rest of Sandrone’s protest as she claimed her lips, swallowing every unfinished word.

This kiss was different—slower, deeper, her tongue stroking against Sandrone’s in a rhythm that made Sandrone’s toes curl. 

Columbina’s hands continued to roam, her fingers tracing every dip and curve of Sandrone’s body with slow, deliberate precision, as if memorizing her.

Sandrone’s hips bucked helplessly, chasing the friction, her thoughts dissolving into a chaotic mess of yes and no and fuck, why does this feel so good?

Pulling back just enough, Columbina smirked down at her. Her lips were swollen from kissing, her eyes dark and heavy with want. “There you go,” she murmured, thumb brushing lightly over Sandrone’s bottom lip. “Let it out.”

Her breath came in ragged gasps, chest rising and falling unevenly as her body trembled beneath Columbina’s touch. “I fucking hate you,” Sandrone muttered weakly.

The smile she received in return was wicked. “I know.”

Then her mouth was on Sandrone’s neck, teeth scraping gently over sensitive skin before her tongue soothed the sting.
Sandrone’s head fell back, a broken moan slipping from her lips as Columbina’s hands slid beneath her shirt, palms hot against her skin.

“You’re so easy,” Columbina whispered, voice low and satisfied. Her fingers found Sandrone’s nipples, pinching just hard enough to steal a sharp gasp from her. “All it takes is a little pressure.”

Sandrone’s back arched off the bed, her body betraying her completely. “Fuck—”

“That’s the idea,” Columbina purred, her mouth trailing down Sandrone’s chest, her teeth grazing over the fabric of her bra before she yanked it down, her lips closing around one of Sandrone’s nipples.

Sandrone’s hands shot into Columbina’s hair, gripping and twisting as a jolt of pleasure ran through her. “Oh—fuck—” she gasped, voice trembling.

A low hum vibrated against her skin, sending sparks straight down between her legs. “That’s it,” came the soft, teasing murmur. One hand slid down her stomach, fingers deftly popping open the button of her jeans. “Let go.”

Her breath hitched as the other hand slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, finding her slick, aching center. 

“You’re dripping,” Columbina groaned, fingers circling with maddening slowness. “Such a mess for me.”

Hips jerked instinctively, chasing the touch, body trembling with need. “Columbina—”

“Shh.” The kiss returned, hungry, swallowing every moan as fingers moved faster, thumb pressing in a relentless rhythm that made vision swim and heat consume every thought.

Sandrone’s body trembled, every nerve screaming, her orgasm building like a storm. Breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. “I—fuck—I’m—”

Her back arched off the bed, muscles taut and unrelenting, as Columbina’s hands worked over her with precision. Pleasure crashed over her in wave after wave, shattering her composure.

A broken cry tore from her throat, fingers clutching at Columbina’s shoulders as she rode out the intensity, mind dissolving into a blissful, empty haze.

Columbina pulled back slightly, lips curved into a smug, satisfied smile. “There,” she murmured, thumb brushing softly over Sandrone’s swollen bottom lip. “Was that so hard?”

Sandrone’s chest heaved, her body still trembling, her mind a mess of endorphins and fuck, what just happened?. She glared up at Columbina, her voice a raw, breathless whisper. 

Then she was kissing Sandrone again, slow and deep, her body pressing Sandrone into the mattress, her hands roaming. 

Sandrone’s arms wrapped around her, her fingers digging into Columbina’s back, her body betraying her all over again.

Because as much as she hated Columbina…
She wanted her more.

—

The next morning, the dorm room was bathed in the pale, watery light of dawn, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the air conditioning. 

Sandrone lay sprawled on her side of the bed, her body still aching in the best possible way, her mind a mess of last night’s memories. 

She could still feel Columbina’s hands on her, her mouth, the way her body had melted beneath her touch.

She hated it. She hated her.

But when the door to Columbina’s room creaked open, and Columbina stepped out—dressed in nothing but a oversized hoodie, her hair messy from sleep, her lips still swollen from kissing—Sandrone’s traitorous body reacted all over again.

Columbina’s gaze flickered to her, her smirk slow, knowing. “Morning, roomie.”

Sandrone’s fingers twitched against the sheets, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “Don’t.”

Columbina’s laugh was soft, her eyes dark with promise. “Don’t what?”

Sandrone’s jaw clenched. “You know what.”

Columbina’s smirk deepened. “Oh, I do.” She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against Sandrone’s wrist, her touch electric. “But you like it when I don’t listen.”

Sandrone’s breath hitched, her body betraying her all over again.

And Columbina knew it.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The dormitory’s ancient plumbing had finally given up the ghost—again. The shower sputtered, coughed, and then, with a final groan, spat out a sad trickle of water that barely qualified as a drizzle. 

Sandrone stood under the pathetic stream, glaring at the rust-streaked faucet as if sheer willpower could force it to work. 

"Fucking piece of shit," she muttered, 
slamming her palm against the tile wall. The impact sent a sharp sting up her arm, but she barely noticed. She was too busy seething.

The door creaked open behind her.
Sandrone didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to.

"Go away," Sandrone snapped, her voice rough with irritation. "I’m using the shower."

A soft, mocking laugh. "Using? That’s generous. Looks more like you’re abusing it." Columbina’s voice was smooth, amused, the kind of tone that made Sandrone’s teeth grind. 

Columbina stepped into the shower stall behind her, the curtain barely wide enough to contain them both. The heat of her body pressed against Sandrone’s back, a deliberate invasion of space. "Besides," Columbina murmured, her breath warm against Sandrone’s ear, "the water’s barely running. You’re not using it. You’re just standing there, looking angry."

Sandrone whirled around, her wet skin slipping against Columbina’s. The other woman didn’t flinch—just tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief under the dim bathroom light. 

Her hair was already damp, clinging to her neck, and her full lips were curved into that infuriating half-smile. 

"Move," Sandrone growled, shoving lightly at Columbina’s shoulder. "I was here first."

Columbina didn’t budge. Instead, she reached past Sandrone, her fingers brushing against the Sandrone’s hip as she turned the faucet.

The water sputtered, then died entirely. "See? No point in fighting over nothing." She stepped closer, her bare chest pressing against Sandrone’s, the heat between them suddenly unbearable. "We might as well share. Save water. Be eco-friendly."

Sandrone’s breath hitched. The steam was thick, the air heavy with the scent of soap and something darker, muskier.

Columbina’s nipples were hard, brushing against Sandrone’s skin with every shift of her body. "I’d rather drown," Sandrone hissed, but her voice lacked its usual bite. 

Her hands were clenched at her sides, her fingers twitching. She hated how her body reacted to Columbina—how her pulse spiked, how her skin flushed, how her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

Columbina’s smile widened. She knew. Of course she knew. "Liar," she whispered, her lips ghosting over Sandrone’s collarbone. 

"You’re dripping." Her hand slid down Sandrone’s side, fingers trailing over the curve of her waist, her hip, before dipping lower. "And not just from the shower."

Sandrone’s breath came out in a sharp gasp. "Don’t—"

"Don’t what?" Columbina’s fingers teased the edge of Sandrone’s pubic hair, her touch feather-light, maddening. "Don’t touch you? Don’t notice how wet you are?" She leaned in, her lips brushing Sandrone’s ear. "Or don’t call you out on how much you want this?"

Hands shot out, gripping Columbina’s wrists—whether to push her away or pull her closer, Sandrone wasn’t sure. "I hate you," she snarled, but her voice was thick, her throat tight.

Columbina twisted her wrists free with ease, her fingers immediately finding Sandrone’s nipples, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp. "You hate that you like me. There’s a difference."

The back hit the tile wall with a thud, and Columbina followed, her body pressing Sandrone into the cold surface, her thigh sliding between Sandrone’s legs. The friction was insane—hot, slick, perfect.

Sandrone’s head fell back against the wall with a groan. "Fuck you," she breathed, but her hips were already rolling, seeking more.

Teeth grazed Sandrone’s neck as  Columbina’s hands slid down to grip her thighs, lifting her slightly. "Oh, I plan to," she murmured against Sandrone’s skin.

"But first—" Fingers dipped between Sandrone’s legs, sliding through the wetness there. "Let’s see how desperate you really are."

A moan tore from Sandrone’s throat, raw and needy. "Don’t get cocky," she gasped, hands tangling in Columbina’s hair, yanking her head back. "Just—fucking—"

Fingers circled Sandrone’s clit, slow and deliberate. "Just what?" Columbina taunted, breath hot against Sandrone’s lips. "Use your words, grumpy."

Hips jerked involuntarily, body betraying her. "Make me come," Sandrone snarled, voice breaking. "Or I swear to god, I’ll—"
A dark, triumphant laugh filled the air. 

"You’ll what?" Columbina pressed two fingers inside, curling them just right, thumb still working Sandrone’s clit in tight, relentless circles. "Scream? Beg? Squirt all over my hand like the messy little thing you are?"

Sandrone’s nails dug into Columbina’s shoulders, her body arching off the wall. "I hate you," she choked out, but her words dissolved into a broken moan as Columbina’s fingers hit that spot, the one that made her vision white out. "Oh—fuck—"

"Louder," Columbina demanded, her voice a dark purr. "I want the whole dorm to hear how good I make you feel."

An orgasm hit Sandrone like a freight train, body convulsing, thighs clamping around Columbina’s hand. A gush of fluid spilled over the fingers, soaking the wrist and arm, splashing against the tile wall behind them.

A scream tore from her, raw and animalistic, body shaking with the force of it. "Fuck—fuck—fuck—"

Fingers didn’t stop. Columbina kept her relentless rhythm, thumb never pausing, drawing out every last tremor, every last drop. "That’s it," she murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Let it all out. Drench me."

Sandrone’s legs gave out. She would’ve collapsed if Columbina hadn’t been holding her up, her body limp, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I—oh god—" Her face burned with humiliation, her cheeks flushed dark red. "I squirted."

Columbina’s grin was wicked. "You did," she agreed, her fingers still buried inside Sandrone, her thumb swirling lazily over Sandrone’s oversensitive clit. "And it was fucking gorgeous." She leaned in, her lips brushing Sandrone’s ear. "Taste it."

Sandrone’s eyes flew open. "What?"
Columbina pulled her fingers free with a wet pop, then brought them to Sandrone’s lips. "Taste. Yourself."

A twist of the stomach hit Sandrone, lips parting despite herself. She tried to grit her teeth, tried to push Columbina away, but the fingers in her mouth made her stomach clench in a way she hated.

Columbina’s eyes darkened, her breath hitching. "Good girl," she whispered, her voice rough. That single word slammed through her like a shockwave. No. No. Stop. Why—why does that turn me on?

Then, before Sandrone could react, Columbina dropped to her knees, her hands gripping Sandrone’s thighs, spreading them wide.

Sandrone’s back hit the wall again, her body jolting as Columbina’s tongue dragged through her folds, slow and deliberate. "Oh—fuck—" Sandrone’s hands flew to 

Columbina’s hair, her fingers tangling in the damp strands. "You—you can’t—"

A laugh vibrated against her, sending a fresh wave of unwanted pleasure through Sandrone. "Give up already," Columbina murmured, her breath hot against Sandrone’s skin. "It’s useless." Her tongue flicked over Sandrone’s clit, then sucked, hard.

Sandrone’s hips bucked, her body already coiled tight, already desperate for more. "You’re push—."

"What?" Columbina’s fingers joined her tongue, two of them pressing inside Sandrone, curling, stretching. "Use your words, grumpy."

Nails scraped against the tile, body trembling. "You’re… pushing me…keep going" she gasped, voice breaking. "Fuck… I’m—oh god—I’m cumming again…"

A low growl answered, mouth sealing over her, tongue fucking her in tight, relentless strokes. Moans spilled out, loud and unashamed, body writhing against Columbina’s face. Steam thickened, air heavy with sex, with her, with them.

The second orgasm hit like a freight train, back arching off the wall, thighs clamping around Columbina’s head. A fresh gush of fluid spilled over chin, neck, and shoulders, drenching her. Screams tore from her throat, hoarse and ragged. 

Columbina drank Sandrone down, her tongue lapping at her, her fingers never slowing, never stopping. Sandrone’s legs gave out entirely this time, her body sliding down the wall.

When Sandrone finally stilled, her body limp, her breath shallow, Columbina pulled back, her lips glistening, her chin dripping. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes locked on Sandrone’s. "There," she murmured, her voice rough. "Now that’s how you share a shower."

Sandrone’s face burned, her body still trembling. She wanted to hate Columbina. She should hate her. But all she could manage was a weak, breathless, "Fuck you."

Columbina’s laugh was soft, triumphant. She leaned in, her lips brushing Sandrone’s, her tongue flicking out to taste the remnants of Sandrone’s release on her own mouth. 

"Later," she promised, her voice a dark purr. 

"Right now—" She stood, her body glistening with water and Sandrone, her hand reaching for the faucet. "We should actually shower. Before the water runs out for real."

Sandrone groaned, her body aching, her mind reeling. She let Columbina pull her to her feet, her legs unsteady, her breath still uneven. The water sputtered back to life, weak but there, and Columbina stepped under the stream, her back to Sandrone, her body taunting her.

Sandrone’s hands clenched at her sides. She hated Columbina. She hated how good she felt. She hated how desperate she was for more.

—

The shower ended too soon. The water ran cold, then sputtered to a stop entirely, leaving them both dripping, skin pruned, 
bodies sated—for now.

Columbina stepped out first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself with a mischievous smirk. "See? Eco-friendly," she teased, voice light, eyes glinting knowingly.

Sandrone gritted her teeth, grabbing her own towel and yanking it around her with more force than necessary. "Shut up," she muttered, but this time, the heat in her voice was mixed with something else—a reluctant, guilty satisfaction.

Columbina laughed softly, the sound curling into her ears and somewhere deep down, Sandrone’s pulse jumped. She hated it. She hated how good it felt, how her body betrayed her with every touch, every tease, every smirk from Columbina.

And yet, as she wiped her wet hair and glanced at Columbina’s triumphant grin, she couldn’t deny the truth simmering beneath her irritation. This—this fucked-up, infuriating, insane arrangement—they both wanted it. She wanted it.

A low, dark part of her even craved it. Fuck buddies. No feelings. No confessions. Just pure, messy, unrestrained satisfaction whenever the opportunity arose.

Her lips twitched. Maybe not all of her hated it. Maybe, just maybe… she was going to enjoy this far more than she’d like to admit.

And the thought made her pulse quicken, her body still humming, heat lingering from 
Columbina’s touch. She clenched her fists, half in frustration, half in anticipation, and muttered under her breath: “…God, this is going to be… fun.”

Columbina’s laugh echoed behind her as she towel-dried herself, smug, knowing, and perfectly in control. Sandrone groaned—partly in irritation, partly in guilty pleasure—and allowed herself a fleeting, dangerous smile.

Fuck buddies. Hateful in public, insatiable in private. And Sandrone… she was already counting the seconds until the next time.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The dorm was silent except for the soft hum of Sandrone’s laptop and the occasional scratch of her pen on paper. Her desk was buried under blueprints, notebooks, and half-drained mugs of cold coffee. She was so absorbed in her work that she barely noticed the soft shift in the air beside her.

Columbina leaned in, calm and deliberate, her presence suddenly overwhelming. The tray in her hand went forgotten as she stepped closer, heat radiating from her body. “You’ve been at this for hours,” she murmured, voice smooth and teasing. “Maybe you need a break.”

Sandrone snorted, fingers still flying across her keyboard. “I don’t have time for a break,” she muttered, trying to sound firm, though her pulse betrayed her.

Columbina didn’t argue. She reached out gently, brushing a hand along Sandrone’s side, her touch deliberate, enough to make Sandrone flinch. 

Then she leaned in, pressing soft, teasing kisses to Sandrone’s lips—short, exploratory, lingering just long enough to make her heart hammer.

Before Sandrone could gather her thoughts, Columbina tilted her head and pressed her mouth lightly to the side of her neck. The kiss was feather-light, almost a whisper against her skin, and Sandrone gasped, her stomach fluttering with a sensation entirely new to her—butterflies she had never felt before. Her fingers tightened on the edge of her desk, legs trembling slightly.

Columbina’s hand slid down to Sandrone’s waist, grazing over the curve of her hip. The touch was deliberate and teasing, playful enough to drive her wild, but careful—respectful of her boundaries, for now.

Minutes passed like slow fire. Columbina’s lips returned to Sandrone’s, teasing kisses that alternated between the soft press of lips and the feather-light nibble of teeth on her jawline. 

Her hands wandered over Sandrone’s sides and back, brushing the sensitive skin under her arms, slipping slightly to tease along her lower back.

Sandrone was trapped between wanting to pull away and leaning in, every nerve ending alive, heart racing, and stomach fluttering uncontrollably. Her chest heaved, breaths coming fast and shallow.

Columbina pulled back slightly, eyes glittering, lips just inches from Sandrone’s. Then she leaned in again for another kiss, this one lingering a little longer, and when they parted, a thin strand of saliva clung briefly between their lips. Sandrone blinked, cheeks flaming, utterly flustered.

“I hope… that eases your stress,” Columbina whispered softly, voice smooth and calm, but edged with mischief. “I could go further… but you have too much to do. Can’t let you get too distracted… not yet.”

Sandrone’s chest heaved, heart hammering, and she realized her body had betrayed her completely. 

Every gentle brush, every teasing kiss, the light touches along her waist and sides—they left her dizzy, breathless, and with a stomach full of butterflies she couldn’t name or control.

Columbina’s fingers lingered briefly on her hip, thumb brushing lightly, and then she leaned close again, lips brushing Sandrone’s cheek. “Though… you do look very tense like this. Maybe you should relax… just a little,” she murmured, teasing without crossing the line.

Her mind spun, body alive in ways it had never been, and her pulse raced faster with each light touch. 

The teasing, the soft kisses, the lingering feather-light touches—they had completely unraveled her focus.

When Columbina finally stepped back, she gave a small, knowing smile and whispered, “If you need me… I’ll be in my room. I won’t disturb you… unless you want me to.”

Sandrone slumped in her chair, trembling slightly, lips tingling from the kisses, chest still pounding. Her mind was spinning, and her stomach fluttered like a thousand butterflies at once. 

The memory of Columbina’s soft, teasing lips and gentle touches lingered, leaving her dizzy, flustered, and entirely captivated.

She had never felt anything like this before. And as she returned to her work, hands shaking slightly, she knew one thing for certain: she wanted this again, every teasing kiss, every playful touch, every strand of connection that left her heart racing.

—

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, cutting across Sandrone’s cluttered desk and the mountain of papers she’d left sprawled the night before. 

She groaned, eyes half-open, and realized she was cocooned in a blanket she didn’t remember grabbing. A faint, lingering warmth on her neck made her freeze.Her mind raced. 

The faint scent of Columbina lingered on the fabric. A folded note rested neatly beside her breakfast tray on the desk, a cup of tea steaming gently next to a plate of perfectly toasted bread.

Sandrone’s fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the note. Written in Columbina’s precise, calm handwriting were just a few words:

Eat first. I won’t disturb your work. Don’t forget to breathe… or you might short-circuit.

— Roomie

Her lips twitched in disbelief. THE FUCK IS THIS FUCK BUDDY SETUP, she thought, stomach fluttering uncomfortably at the small care, the deliberate teasing. It felt like… girlfriend vibes, but definitely not intended that way. 

Her hands shook slightly as she took a bite of the breakfast, the warmth of the tea steadying her racing thoughts.

She finished quickly, still flustered, and grabbed her bag. Her mind was half on her schematics, half on Columbina’s soft touch and the teasing way she’d kissed her, leaving a subtle mark on her neck she hadn’t even noticed until now.

The walk to school was torturous. Every slight movement made her hyper-aware of her collarbone, her pulse fluttering in ways she had never expected. She tried to shake it off—it was just a kiss. Just a tease. Nothing more.

Sandrone slid into her usual seat in the lab, eyes still on her notebook, hands trembling slightly as she tried to focus on the schematics in front of her. The lecture hall smelled faintly of coffee and ink, a place she could usually lose herself entirely in logic and equations.

Then she felt it—a sharp, icy awareness that she was being watched.

“Finally, someone decided to show up,” a voice drawled, rich with barely-hidden amusement.

She glanced up. Scaramouche was leaning against the edge of a desk, arms crossed, expression perfectly neutral but eyes alight with curiosity and mischief. “And what’s that on your neck?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly.

Sandrone’s chest tightened. The faint mark, the subtle residue of last night’s interaction with Columbina, burned hot in her mind. Her hands froze over her notes. “W-what are you talking about?” she snapped, voice tight.

“That,” he said, pointing without touching, “looks suspiciously like someone’s been… claiming you.”

She glared. “I said nothing,” she hissed. “And even if I did—” She stopped herself. 

No, she couldn’t admit anything. Not to him. Not even internally could she give Columbina the satisfaction of being blamed.

Scaramouche smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching with barely concealed triumph. “Really? Because ‘nothing’ seems awfully guilty. And I don’t miss a thing, Sandrone.”

“I don’t need your analysis,” she snapped, fingers tightening on her pen. “Go find something else to waste your genius on.”

“Genius? Ha.” He straightened, smirk sharpening into something dangerously amused. “Funny. I was just about to ask you for help with the integration equations. But now… maybe I shouldn’t. You might distract me.”

“Distract you?” Her eyebrows shot up. “I don’t distract anyone, Scaramouche. I… focus. Unlike some people I know.”

“Some people you know?” He leaned in slightly, voice low, sardonic, and dripping with disdain. “Do enlighten me. Who’s that? Another self-absorbed academic drone, obsessed with automatons?” His eyes glinted. “Or… maybe someone left you… marked last night?”

Sandrone’s jaw tightened. Columbina, she thought bitterly, the butterflies in her stomach mixing with frustration. “That… is none of your business,” she snapped, voice rising despite her best attempt at control. “And I don’t need your commentary.”

Scaramouche chuckled softly, the kind of sound that scraped across nerves. “None of my business, huh? Then why do you look like you’ve been caught with your formulas in a state of… unprofessional vulnerability?” He gestured vaguely to her neck. “That mark, Sandrone. Care to explain the physics behind that?”

“I said it’s nothing!” she barked, eyes narrowing. “It’s… an accident. I—”

“You’re lying,” he interrupted smoothly, smirk widening. “And you’re glaring like someone’s about to short-circuit under pressure. Classic Sandrone.”

Her hands tightened around her pen, knuckles whitening. “I do not short-circuit under pressure. And I am not classic anything. I—”

“You are,” he said flatly, crossing his arms again. “Sharp, hostile, impossible, and yet… somehow brilliant enough that everyone here, including me, has to deal with your terrible personality. And this,” he tilted his head again toward her neck, “is the perfect visual proof that even the supposedly untouchable Sandrone can be… human.”

She let out a frustrated hiss, rubbing at her collarbone to cover the faint hickey. “It’s not… human. It’s… circumstantial. And definitely not the fault of anyone here.” She clenched her jaw, internally cursing Columbina with every fiber of her being.
Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. 

“Circumstantial? Really? That’s your excuse?” His smirk was sharp, a blade of amusement and irritation. “I’ve known you long enough to recognize denial when I see it. That mark… isn’t circumstantial. And I think you like that someone—” He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with teasing malice. “—made it.”

Sandrone’s chest heated. “I do not like anything,” she snapped, words trembling despite the venom. “It’s… irrelevant to my work. Completely.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head, smirk unwavering. “Completely. Sure. Right after you spent ten minutes trying to hide it from me while calculating stress tolerances for the automaton project.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re… predictable,” he countered smoothly, voice dripping sarcasm. “Terrible personality, obsessive brilliance… and apparently, easily flustered when caught off guard. Classic you.”

Sandrone huffed, shoving at her notebook in frustration. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the warmth lingering on her neck, to the trace of butterflies that had nothing to do with him—or so she tried to tell herself. 

Every word he said, every sharp glance, kept her half flustered, half annoyed, completely aware of her racing heart.

“Just… focus on your equations,” she muttered, turning sharply back to her notebook, trying to ignore him.

Scaramouche leaned back, eyes still glinting. “Oh, I will. But don’t think for a second that I won’t notice the little details, Sandrone. Your so-called ‘nothing’ is very loud.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she scribbled, hiding the heat in her cheeks. She hated how aware she was, hated the butterflies, hated the strange pull between irritation, pride, and something else she couldn’t name. But most of all, she hated that he saw it.

And yet… she couldn’t help the faint, guilty thrill that ran through her.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The time Sandrone reached the dorm, her patience was already hanging by a thread. Her bag was slung over one shoulder, her notes were crumpled from being shoved in too aggressively, and her brain was still replaying Scaramouche’s smug voice over and over.

“Someone’s been claiming you.”
 Easily flustered.”
You like it.”

“I do NOT,” she muttered to herself as she shoved the door open.

The living room was quiet. Too quiet. No humming. No soft footsteps. No annoying little comments drifting from the kitchen.

Her eyes scanned the space. Empty couch. Empty table. Lights on in Columbina’s room.

Perfect.

She inhaled sharply. “COLUMBINAAAAAA!” Her voice echoed down the hallway, sharp and furious.

“WHAT DID YOU PUT ON MY NECK?!” She stormed forward, already prepared for a fight, already rehearsing every accusation in her head.

And then—

“Oh.”

She froze. Right there on the couch, sitting politely with a cup of tea in both hands, was Lauma. Wide-eyed. Calm. Innocent. Very, very present.

Lauma blinked. Once. Twice.

“…Oh,” she said softly.

Sandrone’s soul left her body. For a solid three seconds, her brain completely shut down.

No.


No no no no no.


Why is she here.


Why today.


Why now.

Behind her, Columbina peeked out of her room, clearly having heard the yelling. She paused. Took in the scene.

Sandrone, red-faced and furious. Lauma, confused and holding tea.


The words “WHAT DID YOU PUT ON MY NECK” still hanging in the air.

And then—

She smiled. A slow, amused, absolutely evil smile. “Oh,” Columbina said lightly. “You’re home.”

Sandrone whipped around. “YOU—”

Lauma suddenly stood up.

“I—um,” she said quickly, waving her hands. 

“Pretend that I’m not here.”

Sandrone choked. “What.”

Lauma nodded seriously. “I didn’t hear anything. I saw nothing. I am… invisible.” She even turned slightly to the side, as if that helped.

Sandrone’s face burned. “THIS IS NOT—” 

She stopped herself, clenched her fists, then lowered her voice. “Columbina. Room. Now.”

She grabbed Columbina’s wrist and dragged her down the hallway without another word.

Columbina didn’t resist. She just laughed softly and followed.

They barely made it into the bedroom before Sandrone slammed the door shut.
“What. Did. You. Do,” Sandrone hissed, pointing aggressively at her own neck. “Everyone noticed. I look like—like—”

“Like someone had a good time?” Columbina offered innocently.

Sandrone’s eye twitched. “I LOOK LIKE AN IDIOT.”

Columbina tilted her head. “I barely touched you.”

“YOU LEFT A MARK.”

“A very small one.”

“IT’S NOT SMALL.”

Columbina studied her face for a moment, then smiled gently. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Don’t,” Sandrone snapped. “Deflect. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you’d notice,” Columbina replied honestly. “You’re very observant.”

“I WAS BUSY.”

“With school.”

“Yes.”

“And thinking about me,” Columbina added softly.

Sandrone froze. “…No.”

“Mm,” Columbina hummed. “Your face says yes.”

Before Sandrone could respond, there was a soft knock on the door.

“Um,” Lauma’s voice came through. “Can I… stop being invisible now?”

Sandrone groaned. “Kill me,” she muttered.

Columbina opened the door.

Lauma stepped in carefully, like she was entering dangerous territory. “I’m sorry,” she said earnestly. “I didn’t mean to overhear. But… I heard shouting.”

Sandrone crossed her arms. “I wasn’t shouting.”

“You were,” both of them said at the same time.

She scowled. 

Lauma hesitated, then looked between them. “So… can I ask something?”

“No,” Sandrone said immediately.

“Yes,” Columbina said at the same time.

Sandrone turned on her. “Why would you say yes?!”

“Because she’s curious,” Columbina replied calmly.

Lauma smiled awkwardly. “I am.”

There was a pause.

Then, very gently: “What… are you two?”

Silence.

Sandrone stiffened. Her brain scrambled for an answer. Roommates. Enemies. Mistake. Problem. Disaster.

Before she could say anything—

“We’re roommates,” Columbina said easily.

Lauma blinked. “That’s… it?”

“Yes.”

Sandrone stared at her.

“That’s it?” she repeated.

Columbina shrugged. “She really hates me, though.”

“I DO NOT—” Sandrone stopped. “…Okay, I strongly dislike you.”

Lauma tilted her head. “But… you share food. And blankets. And you argue like an old married couple.”

Sandrone nearly combusted. “We do NOT—”

“She stole my hoodie one time,” Columbina added.

“You left it on my chair!”

“And slept with it.”

“I WAS COLD.”

Lauma smiled softly. “Oh.”

That was all she said. Just: Oh.

Sandrone hated that “oh.”

It sounded like understanding.

“Anyway,” Columbina continued lightly, “she’s stressed. So I try to help.”

Lauma looked at Sandrone. “Is that true?”

Sandrone hesitated. “…Yes.”

Quietly.

Lauma nodded. “That’s nice.”

Sandrone felt her ears heat up. “It’s not,” she muttered. “She’s annoying.”

“But you like it,” Lauma said gently.

“No.”

“You do.”

“…Maybe.”

Columbina’s smile softened.

Lauma stood up. “Okay. I’ll go now. You two… talk.”

She paused at the door. “And, um,” she added shyly, “The mark is cute.”

Sandrone collapsed onto her bed.

“I’m never leaving this room again. Columbina sat beside her.

“You survived,” she said softly.

“I was humiliated.”

“You were adorable.”

“I hate you.”

—

The dorm room was bathed in the soft golden glow of the setting sun, filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Lauma’s footsteps had long since faded down the hallway, leaving behind only the faintest echo of her presence. 

Sandrone stood frozen in the room. The air smelled faintly of Columbina’s perfume—something sweet and intoxicating.

Columbina leaned against her desk, arms crossed, her posture relaxed yet deliberate. The black hair with magenta highlights cascaded over one shoulder, framing her pale, almost porcelain face.

Her pearlescent pink eyes glinted faintly in the light, sharp and knowing, as if she could see straight through Sandrone’s usual defenses. 

She didn’t move, didn’t speak—just watched, waiting. The silence between them was thick, charged with something unspoken, something that had been building for far too long.

“I’ve been holding back since yesterday,” Columbina said at last, her voice soft, deliberate, yet laced with a teasing edge that sent a shiver down Sandrone’s spine. “Can we… do it now?”

Sandrone’s breath hitched. Her mouth opened, then closed, her usual snarky comebacks failing her entirely. Wait. Did she just ask permission? She had never—ever—heard Columbina ask for anything. Usually, Columbina just moved, always in control, always pushing boundaries, always taking. But this? This was different. This was… consideration.

“…What?” Sandrone’s voice cracked slightly, more from surprise than anger. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, knuckles whitening.

Columbina pushed off the desk and stepped closer, her movements slow, deliberate. She reached out, brushing a strand of Sandrone’s dark brown hair behind her ear, letting her fingers linger just long enough for Sandrone to feel the warmth, the softness of her touch. 

Her usual detached demeanor was intact, but there was something in the way she looked at Sandrone—a tiny, teasing acknowledgment of the change she’d seen. The shift in the air between them.

Sandrone’s chest tightened. She felt it—the flutter in her stomach, the strange warmth coiling low, the tension she didn’t understand but didn’t want to stop. This is wrong. This is ridiculous. But… wow.

Columbina leaned in, just enough for her lips to hover near Sandrone’s. Their breaths mingled, warm and uneven. Sandrone’s hands, almost without her permission, reached out to steady herself against Columbina’s arms. Her usual hostility wavered, replaced by a bubbling mix of nerves and desire she couldn’t name. She didn’t pull away.

The first kiss was light, tentative. Columbina’s lips pressed softly against Sandrone’s, testing, observing. Sandrone froze, then responded slowly, almost reluctantly, as if half of her mind was screaming stop, while the other half ached to lean into it. Columbina pulled back just slightly, her lips brushing Sandrone’s jaw, then the side of her neck—light, teasing, deliberate. 

Sandrone caught a sharp intake of breath she didn’t know she had. Her fingers twitched in Columbina’s hair, feeling the smooth strands slide between them.

“I…” Sandrone started, then stopped. She was hyper-aware of everything—the way her pulse hammered in her throat, the way her skin prickled under Columbina’s touch, the way her body betrayed her usual defiance. 

She could feel Columbina watching her, studying her reactions, noting the flush in her cheeks, the slight widening of her blue-grey eyes.

Columbina’s soft smile was dangerous in its subtlety. “You’re… more aware than usual,” she murmured, her voice a low hum against Sandrone’s skin. “I like that.”

Sandrone blinked. “What… what do you mean?”

“You’re noticing things. Feeling things. Reacting,” Columbina said, tilting her head slightly. Her fingers traced the line of Sandrone’s collarbone, light as a feather. “I can see it in your eyes. And I know you can feel me too.”

Sandrone’s pulse spiked. Her throat went dry. “…I—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. Her usual words, sharp and cutting, had fled. She hated how exposed she suddenly felt. How seen. This was dangerous. And yet…

The air between them tightened as Columbina leaned in, her lips brushing Sandrone’s—slow, teasing, lingering. The kiss deepened, not rough, not demanding, but intimate in a way Sandrone had never known. It wasn’t like their frantic, heated encounters before. This was gentle. Deliberate. Almost like Columbina was patiently coaxing her into surrender without ever asking.

Without thinking, Sandrone’s hands slid to Columbina’s waist, resting there lightly, as if afraid to break the moment. She felt every subtle movement, every brush of skin against skin. Her heart pounded wildly, her body tense, every nerve awake and burning. She had never felt so alive. So exposed.

Their lips parted just enough for breath, and Columbina’s pale, light-pink eyes—blurred softly with hints of blue—met hers. There was a quiet awareness in her gaze, a flicker of amusement, of understanding. She knew exactly what she was doing to Sandrone. And Sandrone knew she was letting it happen.

They both felt it. We’re different now. We notice it.


But neither of us will say it.

Columbina pulled back just enough to give her space to breathe, a faint, knowing smile curving her lips. Her fingers brushed gently along Sandrone’s jaw, unhurried, tender.

“Better?” she murmured softly.

Sandrone’s lips parted, catching a soft breath. “…Yes,” she admitted, almost involuntarily, her voice low, unguarded. Her usual armor felt inadequate. Her pulse was high, her chest fluttering, stomach twisting in ways she couldn’t explain.

“Good,” Columbina whispered, leaning closer again, her lips just grazing Sandrone’s temple. “We can take it slow. I’m patient… for now.”

Sandrone shivered at the words, aware of the subtle teasing, the controlled dominance, the calm that always unnerved her. Her hands tightened slightly, heart racing. “I—” She stopped. Focus. Don’t fall apart here.

But she already had.

The space between them dissolved.
Columbina’s hands slid down Sandrone’s arms, her touch feather-light, tracing the curves of her body as if memorizing them. Sandrone’s breath hitched as Columbina’s fingers found the hem of her shirt, slipping beneath the fabric to press against the warm skin of her waist. The contact sent a jolt through her, sharp and electric.

“You’re trembling,” Columbina observed, her voice a low purr. “Is it fear? Or anticipation?”

Sandrone swallowed hard, her usual defiance crumbling under the weight of Columbina’s gaze. “Shut up,” she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words. 

Instead, her hands found Columbina’s hips, pulling her closer, as if her body had decided what her mind couldn’t.

Columbina chuckled, a soft, knowing sound, before capturing Sandrone’s lips in another kiss—deeper this time, hungrier. Sandrone melted into it, her fingers tangling in Columbina’s hair as their bodies pressed together. 

The kiss was slow, exploratory, a dance of lips and tongues that left Sandrone breathless. She could taste the faint sweetness of Columbina’s lip balm, the warmth of her mouth, the way her breath hitched when Sandrone’s teeth grazed her lower lip.

Slowly, Columbina’s hands slid upward, pushing Sandrone’s shirt higher and higher until the smooth skin of her stomach was fully exposed. Her fingers traced along the gentle lines of Sandrone’s ribs, lingering there for a moment before moving higher, searching.

They found the clasp of her bra.

With a practiced, effortless flick, it came undone, the fabric loosening around Sandrone’s chest. Columbina didn’t rush. She took her time, carefully peeling it away, inch by inch, her gaze never leaving Sandrone’s as she revealed her bare skin.

Sandrone’s breath turned shallow, uneven. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her nipples already tight and aching beneath Columbina’s unfiltered attention. Heat rushed to her face as she swallowed.

“You’re… really good at this,” she whispered, almost embarrassed by how breathless she sounded.

A smirk curved Columbina’s lips. “I know.”

She leaned down slowly, her mouth brushing the soft swell of Sandrone’s breast. Her lips lingered there before her tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive peak with deliberate precision.

A sharp gasp tore from Sandrone’s throat. Her back arched on instinct, pleasure rushing through her in a sudden, dizzying wave, her hands gripping Columbina’s shoulders as if she might fall apart without her.

Columbina took her time, alternating between light flicks of her tongue and gentle sucks, her hands kneading Sandrone’s other breast, rolling the nipple between her fingers. The dual sensations sent Sandrone’s head spinning, her fingers clutching at Columbina’s shoulders for support.

“Nghhh—” Sandrone breathed, her voice trembling. “Columbina, that’s—ah—”

Columbina pulled back just enough to speak, her lips glistening. “You like that?”

Sandrone could only nod, her body already betraying her. Columbina’s hands slid down, her fingers deftly unbuttoning Sandrone’s jeans before pushing them down her hips, along with her underwear. 

The cool air hit Sandrone’s bare skin, making her shiver, but Columbina’s touch was warm, grounding. She guided Sandrone backward until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the bed, then gently pushed her down onto the mattress.

Sandrone lay back against the sheets, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body exposed and achingly vulnerable. Above her, Columbina stood still for a moment, dark eyes roaming over her as if committing every detail to memory.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured softly, her voice thick with something Sandrone couldn’t quite name. Awe. Admiration. Something dangerously close to reverence.
It made her stomach flutter.

All that mattered was the way Columbina looked at her now—like she was the only thing that existed.

Slowly, Columbina lowered herself, kneeling between Sandrone’s parted legs. Her hands slid up the insides of her thighs, unhurried, deliberate, thumbs brushing teasingly over sensitive skin.

Sandrone’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the sheets.

Columbina lingered there, tracing lazy patterns, making her wait—until finally, her touch drifted higher.

Right where Sandrone ached the most.

“You’re so wet,” Columbina murmured, her fingers sliding slowly through Sandrone’s folds, gathering the slickness there.

A broken moan slipped from Sandrone’s lips, her hips lifting on instinct, chasing the touch. Columbina humored her, circling her clit in slow, deliberate strokes, unhurried and cruelly precise.

The pleasure built fast—too fast. Sandrone’s hands twisted in the sheets, her body trembling as heat coiled tightly in her stomach.

“Columbina…” Her voice came out strained, breathless, barely holding together.

The fingers stilled.

Sandrone let out a soft, frustrated sound before she could stop herself.

Columbina leaned closer. “Mm?” she murmured. “What is it?”

Sandrone turned her face away slightly, jaw clenched, pride fighting desperately with need. “Don’t… don’t stop,” she muttered, the words rough, almost angry.

A quiet smile curved Columbina’s lips. “Say it properly,” she whispered.

Sandrone swallowed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her body felt too sensitive, too open, every nerve screaming for more.

“I—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply. “I want you,” she admitted under her breath, voice low and shaky. “Touch me… like before.”

Something in Columbina’s gaze softened.
“That’s better,” she murmured.

Her fingers resumed their slow, relentless rhythm, and Sandrone gasped, her back arching as the tension snapped all over again.

A triumphant smile curved Columbina’s lips, though her touch remained careful, almost reverent. Her fingers pressed down, moving in firm, steady circles over Sandrone’s sensitive nerves.

A cry slipped from Sandrone’s throat as her back arched off the bed, pleasure rippling through her in waves.

Columbina didn’t slow. She kept the rhythm constant, unrelenting in the best way, while her other hand drifted lower, teasing along Sandrone’s skin before slipping closer, exploring her gently.

Sandrone shuddered at the added contact, her body responding instantly, every touch sending her higher, closer to losing herself completely.

“Nghh—Columbina—” Sandrone gasped, her hips bucking against Columbina’s hand. The dual sensations—fingers inside her, rubbing against that sweet spot, while her clit was teased relentlessly—were too much. Her body tensed, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as the pleasure built, higher and higher, until—

“Come for me,” Columbina whispered, her voice a command.

Sandrone shattered. Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her body convulsing as pleasure ripped through her. She cried out, her voice raw, her fingers clawing at the sheets as 

Slowly, the steady rhythm of her touch guided Sandrone through every lingering aftershock, drawing out each final tremor until her body finally gave in. She collapsed back against the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly, skin warm and slick with sweat.

For a moment, everything was quiet.
Then a soft kiss brushed against her lips, unhurried and gentle.

“Good girl,” Columbina murmured, her voice low and warm with quiet approval.

Heat rushed to Sandrone’s face, her cheeks burning—but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached up, fingers slipping into Columbina’s hair, tugging her down for another kiss.

This one was slower.

Deeper.

Not rushed. Not desperate.

It carried something neither of them was ready to name.

When they finally parted, Columbina’s smile was soft, her eyes open and unguarded in a way Sandrone had never seen before.

She shifted onto her side and gently pulled Sandrone with her, fitting their bodies together until they were pressed close, limbs tangled, breaths slowly falling into sync.

For once, there was no teasing.

No sharp words.

Just warmth. Quiet. And the strange comfort of staying.

Sandrone’s head rested on Columbina’s chest, her ear pressed against the steady beat of her heart. She could feel Columbina’s fingers tracing idle patterns on her back, the touch soothing, grounding.

Neither of them spoke. The silence between them was comfortable, easy, filled with the soft sounds of their breathing and the occasional rustle of the sheets.

 
Sandrone’s eyes grew heavy, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She didn’t fight it—she let herself relax, let herself feel.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel the need to pull away.

—

Sandrone woke up slowly. Not because of noise. Not because of light. But because she was… warm. Uncomfortably warm.

She frowned slightly, half-asleep, and shifted—only to realize there was an arm around her waist. Firm. Protective. Very much there.

Her brain stalled. …What.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

Memories rushed back in all at once. Kisses. Slow ones. Hands, careful. Columbina asking. Looking at her like that. Holding her after.

Oh.

Oh no.

Her face heated instantly. She lay there stiff as a board, staring at the wall. Why am I being held. Why am I comfortable. Why do I not hate this.

Columbina was still asleep beside her, her breathing slow and steady, her face relaxed in a way Sandrone rarely ever saw. No teasing smile. No knowing look. Just… peaceful.

Her long black hair was slightly messy, magenta strands tangled against the pillow. One arm was loosely wrapped around Sandrone, the other tucked under her head. She looks… stupidly soft like this.

Sandrone immediately scolded herself. No. Stop. Wrong thought. She tried to move.

The arm around her tightened slightly.
“Mm…”

Columbina shifted, half-asleep, pressing a little closer.

Sandrone froze.

…Did she just—

Is she cuddling me.

Her heart started beating too fast. This is not part of the agreement. This is not FUBU behavior. This is illegal.

She carefully tried to slide away again “Don’t,” Columbina murmured sleepily, her voice low and rough from rest.

Sandrone stiffened. “I—I wasn’t—”

Columbina opened one eye.

Then the other.

Those pale, pearlescent pink eyes focused on her slowly.

“…Morning,” Columbina said quietly.

Sandrone swallowed. “…Morning.”

Silence.

They stared at each other. Too close. Way too close.

Sandrone suddenly became aware of everything: the blanket pulled neatly over them, the way Columbina’s thumb was lightly tracing her side without thinking, the faint scent of her perfume mixed with soap.

Why does this feel… domestic.

Columbina was the first to move.

She reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a bottle of water, offering it to Sandrone without a word.

“…Drink.”

Sandrone hesitated, then took it. “Thanks.”
Columbina also handed her two tablets.

“…For the headache you’ll pretend you don’t have.”

“…How did you—”

“You tense your jaw when you’re stressed,” Columbina replied calmly. “You did it all night.”

Sandrone stared. You noticed that??

She took the medicine anyway. Columbina shifted up slightly and reached for a small towel, gently wiping Sandrone’s neck and shoulder where faint marks were still visible.

“Hey—” Sandrone protested weakly.

“Aftercare,” Columbina said simply.

Sandrone’s brain short-circuited. After… care. She lay there, frozen, while Columbina adjusted the blanket, fixed her pillow, and even tucked a stray strand of her beige hair behind her ear.

Too gentle. Way too gentle. This is not just sex. This is… something else.

Sandrone looked away. “…Last night was… different.”

Columbina paused. “…Yes.”

Neither of them elaborated. But they both knew. It hadn’t been rushed. It hadn’t been rough. It hadn’t been about release. It had been slow. Intentional.


Like they were afraid of breaking something. Sandrone hugged the blanket closer. Why did it feel like she’d been seen. Why did it feel like she’d been chosen.

Why did it feel like—

No. Stop.

She glanced at Columbina. “You… asked.” 

Columbina tilted her head. “You noticed.”

“Yes. You never ask.”

“I wanted to,” Columbina replied quietly. “This time.”

Sandrone’s chest tightened. “…Why?”

Columbina looked at her for a long moment. “…Because I didn’t want you to feel like you had to.”

Silence.

Sandrone’s throat felt dry.

That… mattered more than it should.
She stared at the ceiling. “It didn’t feel like… just sex.”

Columbina’s lips curved faintly. “No.”
“…It felt like…” Sandrone struggled for words. “…Like you were taking care of me.”

Columbina leaned closer. “I was.”

Sandrone turned to face her. “That’s dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She hesitated. “…I might get used to it.”

Columbina’s eyes softened. “Would that be so bad?”

Sandrone didn’t answer. Because she already knew.

Later, when Sandrone finally got up, she noticed:

Fresh clothes folded on her chair.


Breakfast on the desk.


A small note.

Eat. You forget when you’re overwhelmed. – C

She stared at it for a full minute.

…What kind of FUBU leaves notes.

…What kind of FUBU knows her habits.

…What kind of FUBU makes her feel like this.

She pressed the note to her chest without realizing it. Annoying. Dangerous. Unfair.

And yet—

When she left the dorm, she was smiling.

Just a little.

Without noticing.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The dorm felt emptier than usual, though the sun still filtered lazily through the half-drawn blinds. Sandrone lounged on her desk, legs crossed, arms behind her head, flicking through her notes but her attention was elsewhere. 

Columbina’s impending departure had created a peculiar tension in the air, one that Sandrone refused to name. She busied herself with minor rearrangements, notebooks stacked just so, pens aligned with surgical precision, anything to avoid thinking about it.

From the living room came the unmistakable shuffle of suitcases and the soft rustle of fabrics. Columbina was packing.

“Careful,” Columbina called, lifting a neatly folded shirt from the pile. “You’re going to break something if you keep glaring at me like that.”

Sandrone’s jaw ticked. “I’m not glaring.”
“Oh? Really? Because from here it looks like you’re plotting my murder for leaving you alone for a whole week.”

Sandrone’s fingers flexed around a pen. “Good. A week without you? Finally. Maybe I’ll get some peace for once.”

“Ha! That’s adorable,” Columbina’s voice trailed, soft and teasing. “You act all brave, but I know you’re going to miss me terribly.”

Sandrone’s brain froze. Literally froze. She could feel her mouth twitching at the edges, her inner monologue screaming, Do. Not. Admit. It.

“I… highly doubt it,” she muttered, sharp and clipped.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Columbina said, voice light, playful. “I know. You hate admitting things. That’s why it’s funny.”

Sandrone’s nostrils flared. “Funny? I’ll have you know my sense of humor is… impeccable.”

“Uh-huh,” Columbina hummed, her tone soft, almost lilting, like a cat circling a cornered mouse. “Impeccable. That’s why you laughed when I called you adorable three seconds ago.”

Sandrone felt heat climb her neck. She glared, pretending not to hear, but her ears were hyperaware of every syllable. Did she really just… tease me that much?

Columbina continued, unbothered “Honestly, I don’t know how you survive a week without me. You’ll probably die of boredom in the first thirty-six hours.”

Sandrone’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. “I doubt it.”

“But you’ll think about me.”

“I will not.”

“You will,” Columbina said, mock sighing, sliding a pair of socks into her suitcase. “I’m psychic, remember? I can see the little panic flicker in your blue-grey eyes every time I move something around you.”

Sandrone froze. Her internal thoughts sputtered. Oh… no. She noticed.

“I don’t panic,” she said, voice low, almost growling. “I merely… observe my surroundings with extreme vigilance. Which is completely normal. Healthy even.”

“Sure,” Columbina replied, voice airy, lifting another shirt and letting it drop into her suitcase with a soft thump. “Normal. That’s exactly what your flushed face says too. Normal.”

Sandrone’s blood pounded in her ears. Why does she always have to notice everything?
Minutes passed, but the bickering continued. 

Columbina carefully fold socks, then roll them neatly, then toss them into her suitcase with an almost absurd precision.

“You’re… obsessive about packing, Sandrone said finally.

“Not at all,” Columbina replied, tilting her head, pearlescent pink eyes flashing in the sunlight, the soft streaks of magenta in her hair glinting. “I’m thorough. There’s a difference.”

Sandrone’s jaw ticked again. “It’s the same thing.”

“Not at all,” Columbina said, voice playful, as if the debate itself were a game. “You’re just salty because you know you’ll miss me while I’m gone.”

“I will not,” Sandrone spat, even as a small, irrational twinge in her chest betrayed her words.

Columbina’s lips quirked. “Ah, denial. Always adorable.” She leaned down to zip her suitcase, glancing up at Sandrone with an almost predatory softness in her eyes.

“Do you even realize how much you care about little things like this? Like me. Or my hair falling into your space. Or—” she paused, smirking, “the fact that you won’t admit you’ll miss me.”

Sandrone felt her chest tighten. I will not admit it. I will not. I will not. Her internal mantra echoed. “I… don’t… care.”

“You care,” Columbina said softly, sliding the zipper closed and patting the top of her suitcase. “I can tell.”

An exaggerated eye roll followed, sharp enough to look almost defensive, before her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Well, good,” Sandrone muttered. “I hope you enjoy seeing the world while I survive this week without… anything remotely annoying like you.”

A soft laugh drifted through the dorm, light and effortless.

“Oh, I will,” Columbina replied easily. “But don’t worry—your bed is going to feel really empty. And lonely. And very, very… silent without me.”

Her fingers twitched before she could stop them. Her stomach tightened. Annoyance flared first—automatic, familiar. Safe.

But underneath it, something warmer stirred. Something stupid. Something dangerous.

Finally, Columbina zipped the last compartment. She hefted the suitcase onto her shoulder and glanced back, light pink eyes flicking to Sandrone. “Ready to go?”
Sandrone rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt. “I guess. Let’s… move.”

Walking through the dorm, Sandrone’s mind was in a storm of denial and irritation. She maintained her usual bratty stride, head held high, expression sharp and exasperated but internally, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way Columbina’s hands had brushed hers earlier, the teasing glances, the lightness in her step. I will not admit that I care, she reminded herself, her teeth grinding.

At the gate, Columbina set her suitcase down and turned to Sandrone. Her lips quirked into that soft, dangerous smile that always made Sandrone’s pulse spike. “Well, here we are. One week apart. I expect you to behave… mostly.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about me,” Sandrone muttered, crossing her arms, trying desperately to look nonchalant.

Columbina’s smile softened. She stepped closer, brushing a strand of Sandrone’s hair behind her ear with gentle precision.  Sandrone’s breath hitched. Stop noticing everything, she scolded herself silently.

“You know,” Columbina whispered, leaning just enough that Sandrone could feel the warmth of her body, “I might miss you… a little. But I won’t tell you that either.”

Sandrone blinked, caught between irritation and an unfamiliar swell of emotion. “Ha. That’s… fine. Not like I care anyway.”

Columbina rolled her eyes, softly chuckling. “Sure. Sure you don’t. Alright, then.” She leaned in quickly and planted a soft peck on Sandrone’s lips, pulling back slightly to watch her reaction.

Sandrone’s eyes widened. Her face heated, and she blinked rapidly, trying to regain composure. What the hell? Did she just… kiss me?

“I—uh…” Sandrone stammered, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably. “That… was… unnecessary.”

Columbina tilted her head, smirk returning, soft and teasing. “Was it? Or did you… like it?”

Sandrone felt her chest tighten. “I—It’s… not… relevant.”

“Uh-huh,” Columbina said lightly, clearly amused, her pink-tinged eyes glinting. “I’ll see you when I get back, grumpy. Behave… or I’ll have to punish you for being too bratty.”

Sandrone blinked. She wanted to argue, but the words stuck somewhere in her throat. She nodded stiffly. “I… will.”

Columbina grabbed her suitcase, slinging it over her shoulder once more. She gave Sandrone one last glance, a smile soft but knowing, full of all the teasing affection that made Sandrone’s chest squeeze in ways she would never, ever admit aloud.

Then she turned, walking away, leaving Sandrone at the gate. Alone.

Sandrone’s fists clenched at her sides. She wanted to say something—something witty, something biting—but instead, she let out a long, frustrated breath. Her stomach twisted with a mixture of irritation and… something else.

I’ll survive this week. I will. But… damn it…
She muttered under her breath, unable to stop the small, guilty smile from forming, “She… really does know how to get under my skin.”

And as Columbina’s figure disappeared from sight, Sandrone realized something uncomfortably true: She would miss her.

—

By the fourth day, Sandrone had stopped pretending she was fine. Not verbally. Never verbally. She would rather dismantle her own automaton with her bare hands than admit anything out loud.

But internally? She was losing the war. It started small.

Missing one lecture slide because she was thinking about how Columbina probably hated hotel pillows.

Forgetting to write down one formula because she was wondering if Columbina had eaten properly.

Zoning out in the middle of a group discussion because her brain suddenly decided to imagine Columbina leaning against a balcony railing somewhere overseas, hair catching light she couldn’t see.

Stupid. Absolutely stupid. She blamed it on lack of sleep. And caffeine imbalance. And academic burnout. And literally anything except the truth.

Which was: She missed her. Badly.

Sandrone’s routine had deteriorated into something tragic. Wake up. Check phone.
No message. Scowl. Shower. Check phone. Still nothing. Scowl harder. Breakfast. Stare at toast. She would’ve complained this is too dry. Lose appetite. 

Class. Pretend to listen. Actually imagine Columbina talking in that soft, annoying, gentle voice.

Notebook filled with half equations and accidental doodles of wings she absolutely did not mean to draw.

She tore that page out immediately. Disgusting.

She hadn’t initiated contact once. Not a single time. Out of principle. Out of pride. Out of pure, unfiltered stubbornness.

If Columbina wanted to talk, she could call first. That was the rule. That had always been the rule. Sandrone was not desperate.

She was not clingy. She was not— She checked her phone again —waiting.

She was just… alert. Hyper-aware. Prepared. That was all.

By evening, she was stretched across her dorm bed like a malfunctioning robot.

One arm thrown over her face. Phone balanced dangerously on her stomach.
Screen dark. She hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. 

Her brain was loud. What time is it there?
Is she tired? Is she with friends? Is she laughing more than when she’s with me?

That last thought made her scowl into her pillow. Rude. Unacceptable. Illegal.

She stared at the empty space. Columbina usually sat there when she was around.
Always too close. Always invading personal space like she owned it. Always leaning in when Sandrone was trying to focus. Always touching.

A hand on her wrist. A finger brushing her sleeve. A shoulder bump “accidentally.” And now—

Nothing.

The dorm was cold. And quiet. And stupid.

“I hate this,” Sandrone muttered. She grabbed her phone. Still no notifications. She tossed it onto the bed.

Two seconds later, she grabbed it again. Just in case.

It was almost midnight when it happened.
The screen lit up. Incoming video call.

Name: Columbina.

Sandrone froze.

Heart: malfunctioning. Brain: blue screen. Pride: screaming.

She stared at it. Three rings. Four. Five.

She almost declined. Almost.

Then she swiped. “…What.”

Columbina appeared on screen, sitting on her hotel bed, hair loose, eyes soft. She looked warm. Comfortable. And unfairly beautiful.

“Hi,” Columbina said.

“Why are you calling so late.”

“You’re awake.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

A soft smile appeared over the screen, one that seemed to know far more than it let on. They talked at first, about classes, about travel, about random little things that somehow felt monumental. Nothing important. Everything important.

Sandrone listened too closely, memorizing every inflection, every pause, pretending she didn’t notice how Columbina’s eyes flickered toward the camera just a little more than necessary.

Conversation slowed. Pauses stretched. 
Looks lingered. Each movement closer made Sandrone’s pulse spike, her stomach twist in ways that felt entirely unfair. She hated that feeling, even as she couldn’t look away.

Columbina tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You’re flushed.”

“What? No, I’m not.” Sandrone’s hand flew to her cheek, her fingers brushing against the heat there. “It’s just—it’s warm in here.”

“Mmm.” Columbina’s lips curved. “Then maybe you should take off a layer.”

Sandrone’s breath caught. “Excuse me?”

Columbina’s robe slipped just a little, revealing the smooth slope of her shoulder. 
“You heard me. Or are you too shy?”

Sandrone’s jaw clenched. “I’m not shy. I just—” She swallowed hard. “Fine. If you’re so eager to see, then look.”

She reached for the hem of her oversized sweater, her fingers trembling just slightly as she pulled it over her head. The cool air hit her skin, making her nipples tighten beneath her thin tank top. Columbina’s gaze darkened, her lips parting as she took in the sight.

“Better?” Sandrone snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Columbina’s smile was slow, predatory. “Much. Though I think you can do better than that.”

Sandrone’s heart pounded. “What, you want a striptease now?”

“No.” Columbina’s voice was a velvet caress. “I want you to touch yourself.”

Sandrone’s entire body went still. “W-what?”

Columbina’s fingers trailed down her own chest, her robe parting just enough to tease. “You heard me. Or are you too afraid to admit you want to?”

Sandrone’s mouth went dry. “I—I don’t—”

“Liar,” Columbina whispered, her voice dripping with amusement. “Your nipples are hard, Sandrone. Your breath is shallow. Your fingers are twitching.” She leaned in, her face filling the screen. “You’re wet, aren’t you?”

Thighs pressed together instinctively. “N-no,” she stammered, heat crawling up her neck.

A dark, velvety laugh echoed through the phone. “Then show me you mean it.”

Fists clenched hard around the edge of the desk. “You’re insufferable,” she snapped, trying—and failing—to sound annoyed.

Fingers brushed deliberately along the edge of her robe, teasing over the call. “Funny… you’re still sitting there instead of hanging up.”

A sharp intake of breath. Part of her brain screamed to end the call, to slam the phone down and regain composure. But another part—an inconvenient, traitorous part—refused. She could hear the soft smirk in the other’s voice, the teasing pull that made her pulse spike.

“…I-I’m not hanging up,” she managed, even as her fingers fidgeted, gripping the phone tighter than necessary.

“Good,” came the soft, dangerous reply. “I like it when you don’t run.”

Sandrone’s resolve cracked. With a frustrated growl, she reached for the waistband of her sweatpants, her fingers fumbling as she pushed them down just enough to expose the damp fabric of her panties. The cool air hit her heated skin, and she bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

Columbina’s breath hitched. “Good girl.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sandrone snapped, though her voice lacked its usual fire.

“Then what should I call you? My bratty little bottom?”

“I am not your—”

“Shhh.” Columbina’s finger pressed against her own lips, her eyes never leaving Sandrone’s. “Just touch yourself. For me.”

Sandrone’s fingers hovered over the damp fabric of her panties, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t—

But then Columbina’s robe slipped just a little more, revealing the swell of her breast, the dark peak of her nipple already tight with arousal. Sandrone’s mouth watered. With a shuddering exhale, she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her panties.

The first touch was electric. A sharp gasp tore from her lips as her fingers brushed against her slick, swollen folds. She was soaked, her clit already throbbing with need. Columbina’s dark chuckle sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

“There you go,” Columbina murmured, her own hand disappearing beneath her robe. “Just like that.”

Sandrone’s fingers moved in slow, hesitant circles, her breath coming in ragged bursts. 

“This—this doesn’t mean anything,” she managed, her voice trembling.

Columbina’s laugh was soft, indulgent. “Of course not. You’re just proving a point.”
Sandrone’s hips twitched, her fingers pressing harder against her clit. “I—I’m not—ah—”

“Not what?” Columbina’s voice was a dark purr, her own fingers moving in time with Sandrone’s. “Not enjoying this?”

Sandrone’s back arched, her free hand gripping the edge. “Sh-shut up.”

A soft hitch in the other line, a ragged whisper that made her pulse spike. “Look at you,” came the teasing voice. “So flustered… so close.”

Fingers moved faster, her thighs trembling. “I—I’m not—”

“You are,” Columbina breathed, her voice rough with arousal. “You’re so close. Just let go.”

Sandrone’s vision blurred, her entire body tensing as pleasure coiled tight in her core. “N-no—”

“Yes.” Columbina’s command was a velvet whip, her own fingers working furiously between her thighs. 

The world blurred.

Sandrone barely registered her surroundings anymore, the desk, the dim light, the faint hum of her laptop. Everything dissolved into heat, breath, and the sound of Columbina’s voice in her ears.

Her fingers trembled. Her breathing shattered.

And then—

Everything hit her at once. Her back pressed hard, a broken sound tearing out of her before she could stop it. 

Her head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure washed over her in overwhelming waves. For a few seconds, she forgot where she was. Forgot who she was. Forgot what this was supposed to be. 

All she could feel was Columbina. Her voice. Her presence on the screen. The way she looked at her like Sandrone was the only thing that existed.

“Fuck—” Sandrone gasped, her voice wrecked, unsteady. “Columbina, I—”

Her words slipped out without permission. Without logic. Without thought.

“I lo—”

The syllable barely left her mouth before reality crashed back in.

I lo—

No.

No no no no no.

Her eyes flew open. Her heart dropped straight into her stomach. What the fuck was that.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.

Her fingers froze mid-air. Her breath hitched violently.

Did I just—

Did I almost—

Oh my god.

On the screen, Columbina was still there hair messy, lips parted, eyes soft and unfocused from everything that had just happened.

She was looking at Sandrone. Really looking. And waiting.

“Sandrone?” Columbina murmured quietly.
That was it.

That was enough. Panic detonated in her chest. Abort. Abort. Abort.

Her thumb slammed against the screen.

End call.

The screen went black.

Silence.

Sandrone stared at her reflection. Her own wide eyes. Her flushed face. Her messed-up hair. Her heart pounding like it was trying to escape.

“…What the fuck,” she whispered.

She dropped her phone onto the desk like it had burned her. What was I supposed to say?! What was that?!

I lo—?!

I lo what?!

I loathe you?!

I loathe your face?!

I lo—

She buried her face in her hands. “I’m doomed,” she muttered. Absolutely doomed.

This was supposed to be easy. This was supposed to be casual. This was supposed to be just sex.

Just tension. Just stress relief. Not—whatever that almost was.

She dragged her hands down her face.
“Get it together,” she hissed at herself. 

“You’re not in love. You’re just… tired. And horny. And stupid.”

Yes. That was it. Definitely. …Probably.

—

The screen went black. Just like that. No warning. No goodbye. No explanation.

Columbina stared at her phone. “…Oh.”

That was all she managed to say. She blinked once. Then twice.

The quiet in the hotel room felt too loud. Her breathing was still uneven, her heartbeat still racing, her fingers trembling slightly where they rested.

She slowly lowered the phone.

Did…


Did she just—

Her brows knit together.

“I lo—”

That was what Sandrone had said.

Not “I lost signal.” 

Not “I logged out.” 

Not “I low-key hate you.”

“I lo—”

“…No,” she murmured to herself. “Don’t assume.”

She said that automatically. Like a rule. Like something she’d trained herself to repeat whenever emotions got dangerous.

Don’t assume. Don’t misread. Don’t hope too much.

Her chest felt strange. Not bad. Not good. Just… confusing.

“…Weird,” she murmured.

Then, very quietly: “What was that…?”

A small, crooked smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

She shook her head. “Don’t think about it,” she told herself softly.

“We’re just… fuck buddies.”

Right?

…Right.

Still, later that night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, that unfinished word kept replaying in her head.

I lo—

And she wondered—just a little—

What Sandrone had really meant to say.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Sandrone woke up in a cold sweat. Not because of a nightmare. Not because of stress. Not because of exams. Because of one single, unfinished syllable that had been haunting her subconscious for eight straight hours.

I lo—

Her eyes snapped open. She bolted upright in bed like she’d just been electrocuted.

“What—what the fuck—”

Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears. Her hair was a mess. Her blanket was tangled around her legs. Her phone lay face-down on her desk, completely innocent and absolutely threatening.

She stared at it. It stared back. Last night replayed in her head with cruel clarity.

The call. Columbina’s voice. Her own breathless, stupid mouth.

“I lo—”

She slapped her hands over her face.

“No. No. No. No. No.”

She rolled backward and flopped dramatically onto her mattress.

“Why did I say that,” she groaned into her pillow. “Why did I almost say that.”

Almost.

That word was doing a lot of heavy lifting. Because she knew exactly what she’d been about to say. And it terrified her. She rolled onto her side and peeked at her phone. No notifications. No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.

Which somehow felt worse than if Columbina had spammed her with questions. At least then, she’d know. Now? Now she was stuck in uncertainty hell.

Did Columbina hear it? Did she pretend not to? Did she think it was something else? Did she—

Sandrone groaned and buried her face in her pillow again. “I’m doomed,” she muttered.

—

She dragged herself out of bed forty minutes later than usual. Her brain was foggy. Her body was heavy. Her motivation was nonexistent. She brushed her teeth while staring blankly at the mirror.

Her reflection looked… bad. Messy hair. Dark circles. Slightly puffy eyes.

She looked like someone who had emotionally self-destructed at 12:47 AM. Which, honestly, was accurate.

While fixing her hair, her brain betrayed her. What if she thinks I meant it. What if she doesn’t care. What if she—

“Stop,” Sandrone snapped at herself. She tied her hair up aggressively. “You’re being dramatic. It was just… heat of the moment.”

Yes. Exactly. Just horny. Just lonely. Just— 

She paused.

…Just missing her.

No. Nope. Illegal thought. She grabbed her bag and stormed out.

—

By the time she got to class, she was running on pure caffeine and denial. She sat in her usual seat. Opened her notebook. Took out her pen.

Five minutes later, she had written: Columb—

She froze. Stared. Slowly crossed it out. What the fuck. She flipped the page. Started again.

Professor started lecturing about advanced mechanics. She heard none of it. Her brain was somewhere in a hotel bathroom four countries away. What is she doing right now? Is she tired? Did she sleep well? Is she thinking about last night? Does she—

“Sandrone.”

She jumped.

“Yes?!”

The professor blinked. “I asked you to solve this.”

She stared at the board. It might as well have been ancient runes.

“…Right.”

She stood up.

Walked forward. Stared. Nothing. Blank. Completely empty.

Scaramouche, sitting behind her, leaned forward. “Wow,” he whispered. “You look like you got emotionally destroyed.”

She hissed. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Did someone break your heart?”

“No.”

“Did someone almost confess?”

She stiffened.

He narrowed his eyes. “…Interesting.”

She turned back to the board and wrote something random. It was wrong. She knew it. Everyone knew it. She sat down in shame. Great. Fantastic.

—

After class, she sat alone at a bench outside. Phone in hand. Thumb hovering. She opened their chat.

She stared at it. For two minutes.

Then started typing.

About last night—

Delete.

Sorry I hung up—

Delete.

You heard that wrong—

Delete.

Forget it—

Delete.

She groaned softly. “Why is this so hard.”

She typed again. Did you eat. She stared. That was it? That’s what you send after almost confessing? She sighed and hit send.

A minute passed.

Two.

Five.

Then:

Columbina: “Yes. I did. Are you?”

Sandrone’s heart did something stupid.

Sandrone: “Obviously.”

Lie.

She had eaten half a biscuit.

Columbina: “Good.”

No mention. No questions. No teasing. Nothing. Her chest tightened.

—

Later that afternoon, Scaramouche cornered her in the library. “Okay,” he said. “What happened.”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“Mind your business.”

He crossed his arms. “You’ve been zoning out for two days. You failed a problem you could solve in your sleep. You look miserable.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re emotionally tired.”

She glared.

He smirked. “So I’m right.”

She sighed. “…Drop it.”

He softened slightly. “You miss her.”

Silence.

“…No.”

“You do.”

“…Maybe.”

He nodded. “Knew it.”

She looked away.

—

That night, she lay on her bed. Dorm quiet. Lights off. Phone beside her. She stared at the ceiling.

She missed: Columbina sitting too close. Columbina stealing her pens. Columbina touching her wrist casually. Columbina’s stupid teasing.

Not the sex. Not just that. Everything. That scared her. Because that meant this wasn’t casual anymore. “…Shit,” she whispered.

Her phone vibrated. Incoming video call. Columbina. Her breath caught. She stared.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Answer.

Don’t answer.

Answer.

Don’t—

It stopped.

Missed call.

Her chest dropped. “…Idiot,” she muttered.

She typed.

Deleted.

Typed.

Deleted.

Finally:

Sandrone: “Sorry. I was in the shower.”

Lie.

Columbina replied after a minute.

“It’s okay. Sleep well.”

That was it. She stared at the screen. Tears stung her eyes unexpectedly.

“…I hate this,” she whispered.

She curled into herself. And for the first time, admitted quietly: “I miss you.”

—

The dorm hallway was louder than usual.
Someone was laughing near the stairs. A group of students argued over food deliveries. A door slammed somewhere down the corridor.

And yet, to Sandrone, everything felt muted.

She stood outside their unit, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t waiting.

Which was a lie. She’d been there for ten minutes. She checked her phone.

No notifications.

“…Tch.”

She slipped it back into her pocket. I’m not waiting.

She was just… coincidentally early. Very early. Because today was Day 7. Because today, Columbina was coming back.

And she hated that her heart reacted like this over something so stupid. It’s not like they were dating.

They’d made that clear. No feelings. No attachments. No expectations. Sex only if both felt like it. Clean. Easy. Convenient.

So why did her chest feel tight? Footsteps echoed down the hall. Sandrone stiffened instantly.

She looked up. And froze.

Columbina was walking toward her, dragging a suitcase, phone pressed to her ear. 

“—yeah, yeah, I’ll message you guys later,” Columbina was saying. “Tell Nefer I’ll send the pics.” She laughed softly.

“Okay. Bye.”

She hung up. Then she saw Sandrone. Her steps slowed. Her smile softened without her realizing it.

“…Hey,” Columbina said.

Sandrone’s brain stalled.

Hey.

That was it. After a week?

“Hi,” Sandrone replied. Flat. Too controlled.

Columbina blinked. “…Hi,” she echoed.

Awkwardness settled between them. Not heavy. Not dramatic. Just uncomfortable. Like something had shifted and neither knew how to fix it.

“You’re… back,” Sandrone said.

“Yes,” Columbina replied. “I am.”

Brilliant.

They walked inside together.

Their aparment had two small bedrooms connected by a shared living space. Before, they’d always lingered in the living room.

Now, they didn’t.

Columbina rolled her suitcase into her room. Sandrone dropped her bag onto the couch.

Silence.

Then Columbina leaned against her doorframe.

“So,” she said lightly. “Did you survive without me?”

Sandrone didn’t look at her. “Barely noticed.”

Lie.

Columbina’s smile flickered. “…Oh.”

She nodded. “Good.”

She went inside and closed her door halfway. Not fully. Not open either. Just… in between. And somehow, that hurt more.

That night, they stayed in their own rooms.
Doors closed. Lights off. Sandrone lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She could hear faint sounds from Columbina’s room. A chair moving. A drawer opening. Soft music.

She missed those sounds. That realization made her stomach twist. 

Idiot.

Her mind replayed Day 4. The video call. The heat. The breathlessness.

I lo—

She squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t meant to say it. Or maybe she had. And that was the problem.

They weren’t supposed to feel. That was the deal. So she’d cut the call.

Coward.

Across the wall, Columbina lay on her bed, staring at her phone. No messages. No explanations. Nothing.

She kept thinking about that unfinished word.

I lo—

She’d pretended not to hear. Pretended it was just noise. Just timing. Just coincidence. But she knew. And she hated that she knew.

Because if Sandrone had meant it…

Then everything was about to break.

By the end of the week, the tension was unbearable. They weren’t fighting. They weren’t cold. They were worse.

One evening, they ended up in the kitchen at the same time.

Sandrone poured water. Columbina leaned on the counter. Their shoulders almost touched.

Almost.

“You seem tired,” Columbina said quietly.
Sandrone shrugged. “Busy.”

Lie.

“…Did you enjoy the tour?” Sandrone asked, forcing it out.

Columbina smiled faintly. “Yeah. Lauma kept dragging us everywhere.”

Pause.

“…I missed home.”

Sandrone’s hand tightened on the glass.
“Good,” she said. “You shouldn’t get attached.”

Columbina stared at her. “…Right.”

Silence.

Again.

That night, Sandrone lay awake, staring at the wall. I almost told her. I almost ruined everything. And maybe I should have.

Across the apartment, Columbina hugged her pillow. Maybe she didn’t mean it. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I’m just lonely.

They were both wrong. They both knew. They were just too afraid to say it.

Bound by rules they made when they thought they were immune to feelings.

And now?

They were stuck.

Two people who cared too much. Pretending they didn’t care at all.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Sandrone hadn’t planned on going near the International Studies building. She told herself that at least three times while walking straight toward it.

“I’m just passing by,” she muttered. Which was a lie. She was very much detouring.

Scaramouche noticed immediately. “You’re walking in the opposite direction of our lab,” he said flatly.

“I know.”

“Then why are we here?”

“We’re not here,” Sandrone snapped. 

“We’re… passing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Behind them, Arlecchino hummed quietly. “Interesting definition of passing.”

Sandrone ignored them. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and kept walking, eyes forward. Sandrone wasn’t even supposed to look. She told herself that. Repeated it in her head like a mantra as she walked past the courtyard.

Don’t look.


Don’t look.


Don’t—

She looked.

And immediately regretted it.

There—under the shade of the tall trees—stood Columbina.

Laughing. Not the polite laugh. Not the small one. The real one. The soft, genuine kind she barely used anymore.

And in front of her—

A guy.

Tall.

Too tall.

Pale skin that almost looked unreal under the sunlight. Dark circles under his eyes, like he never slept. Choppy dark-blue hair with lighter tips, messy in a deliberate way. And when he turned slightly, she caught a glimpse of his eyes.

Yellow. Bright. Unblinking. Weirdly intense.

He looked… gentle, somehow. Calm. Well-mannered. The kind of person who probably said “excuse me” even when no one was around. And he was standing close.

Too close.

He leaned in slightly, saying something low. Columbina tilted her head, smiling. Not pulling away. Not stepping back.

Just… staying.

The guy reached out and brushed something off her sleeve. Careful. Slow. Intimate. Like he’d done it before.

Sandrone’s breath hitched.

Her feet stopped moving. Her brain stopped working. Her chest dropped. Hard. It felt like someone had punched straight through her ribs.

Scaramouche bumped into her back. “Ow. What—”

He followed her stare. “…Oh.”

Arlecchino narrowed her eyes. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” Scaramouche said. “That’s her.”

Sandrone didn’t answer. She couldn’t. It felt like someone had unplugged something inside her. No feelings. No attachments. That was the rule. She had no right to feel this way. So why did it hurt?

“Wow,” Scaramouche muttered. “You look like you’re about to combust.”

“I’m fine,” Sandrone said. Her voice was too calm. Too empty.

Arlecchino glanced at her. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t care,” Sandrone snapped. “She can do whatever she wants.”

“Then why are you staring like you’re watching a crime scene?”

She looked away sharply. “Drop it.”

But her eyes kept drifting back. That guy said something that made Columbina laugh again. He leaned in to whisper near her ear.

Sandrone’s stomach twisted. She turned around abruptly. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Scaramouche said. “We haven’t even—”

“Now.”

They followed. Reluctantly.

—

Meanwhile Columbina was, objectively speaking, having a normal afternoon.

Which meant: sitting on a bench with Flins, Nefer, and Lauma, being verbally attacked in four different emotional registers.

“So,” Nefer said flatly, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. “Let me summarize.”

She looked at Columbina like a disappointed manager.

“You almost missed the bus. You forgot your charger. You borrowed mine. And now you’re acting surprised that I’m annoyed.”

Columbina blinked. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“That’s because it is bad,” Nefer replied coolly. “You’re inefficient.”

Flins cleared his throat politely. “To be fair, she did remember the documents.”

“Yes,” Nefer said dryly. “After panicking for twenty minutes.”

Lauma smiled softly. “At least everything worked out in the end. That’s what matters, right?”

Neferr glanced at her. “No. What matters is preventing it from happening again.”

Columbina laughed. “You’re terrifying.”

“I know.”

Flins shifted slightly closer, lowering his voice. “By the way, Columbina—”

He reached out gently and brushed her sleeve.

“There was dust here.”

She looked down. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Lauma tilted her head. “You two always do that. Quiet little fixes.”

Flins flushed faintly. “It’s just… habit.”

Neferr scoffed. “He’s domesticated.”

“I am not,” Flins replied calmly.

“You literally carry wet wipes,” Nefer deadpanned.

“For emergencies.”

Columbina snorted. Her laughter faded halfway through. Her phone was in her hand again. Still nothing. No message. From Sandrone. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Don’t be obvious. Don’t be weak. She locked it and slipped it back into her pocket.

Nefer noticed immediately. “…You’re distracted,” she said.

Columbina blinked. “What? No.”

“You’ve checked your phone six times in ten minutes.”

“That’s… normal.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Lauma glanced between them. “Maybe she’s just tired? We’ve been traveling nonstop.”

Flins nodded. “You haven’t slept much.”

Columbina smiled faintly. “It’s fine.”

Lie. 

Nefer studied her for a long moment. Then clicked her tongue.

“Let me guess,” she said coolly. “Roommate girly.”

Columbina stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“The engineering one,” Nefer continued. “The grumpy genius. The one you won’t shut up about when you’re half-asleep.”

“I do not—”

“You do,” Nefer cut in. “In your sleep. It’s embarrassing.”

Flins blinked. “You talk in your sleep?”

“…Ignore her,” Columbina muttered.

Lauma touched her arm gently. “Are things… okay between you two?”

Columbina hesitated. Just for a second.

“Yeah,” she said. “We’re fine.”

Another lie.

Neferr raised an eyebrow. “That pause was suspicious.”

“I paused because I was thinking.”

“Reasonable.”

Flins shifted closer again, lowering his voice. “If something’s bothering you… you can talk to us.”

She smiled at him. “I know.”

He leaned in slightly. “You look like you’re carrying too much.”

She exhaled softly. “You sound like Lauma now.”

Lauma smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Neferr sighed. “Great. Now we’re having a group therapy session.”

Columbina laughed, but her chest felt tight. “I should head back soon,” she said quietly. “We have class tomorrow.”

Lauma nodded. “We’ll walk you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m good.”

Nefer stood. “Fine. But text when you get back. If you disappear, I’m blaming romance.”

“I am not disappearing,” Columbina protested.

Flins picked up his bag. “I’ll walk you partway.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

They walked together, still talking. Still laughing. Still completely unaware— That from a distance… It looked like something else.

—

Sandrone didn’t speak the rest of the day. In class, she stared at her notes without seeing them. In the lab, she misaligned a component she’d assembled perfectly a hundred times before.

Scaramouche watched her with growing concern. During break, he finally snapped “Okay. Enough. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

She didn’t respond.

He sighed. “You saw something.”

Silence.

“…Didn’t you.”

She looked away.

“That guy,” he continued slowly. “With Columbina.”

Her jaw tightened. “…So what.”

“So you’re jealous.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been sulking for six hours.”

“That’s not jealousy.”

“That’s literally jealousy.”

She glared. “We’re not together.”

“I know.”

“So it doesn’t matter.”

“Then why does it bother you?”

She froze. No answer. Because the real one was dangerous. 

Because I care. And I’m not supposed to.

—

That evening, she came home late. Too late. On purpose. She tossed her bag onto her bed and went straight to the kitchen. Columbina was there. Washing a mug.

She looked up when Sandrone entered. “Oh. Hi.”

Sandrone paused. Just for a second. Then walked past. Didn’t reply. Didn’t look at her.

Columbina blinked. “…Did I do something?”

No answer. Sandrone grabbed water from the fridge. Her movements were sharp.

Columbina frowned. “Sandy?”

That nickname. It made something snap.

“What,” Sandrone said flatly.

Columbina hesitated. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

“…So?”

“So… why?”

Sandrone laughed softly. Without humor. “Why don’t you ask that guy.”

Silence.

Columbina froze. “…What?”

Sandrone turned to face her, eyes sharp. “You looked busy earlier.”

Realization dawned.

“Oh.”

That.

“Wait,” Columbina said quickly. “That wasn’t—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sandrone cut in. “We have rules. Remember?”

No feelings. No expectations. No questions. She recited them like a weapon. Columbina stared at her. Hurt flickered in her eyes.

“…Right.” 

She nodded slowly.

“I forgot,” she said quietly. “You don’t care.”

Sandrone flinched. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you meant it.”

She put the mug down.

“I was just catching up with friends,” Columbina continued softly. “Flins, Nefer, Lauma. That’s all.”

Sandrone’s chest tightened. “Oh.”

Too late. Damage done.

“…Whatever,” she muttered.

She walked toward her room. Columbina watched her go. Heart heavy.

—

That night, neither of them slept well. Sandrone lay awake, staring at the wall. Idiot. Why did I act like that. Why did I care. Why did I assume. She turned over. Because you’re scared she’ll choose someone else.

The dorm was too quiet.

Columbina lay on her side, staring at the ceiling, the glow of her phone casting a cold blue light across her face. The screen was open to Flins’ messages—How are you?—but she hadn’t replied. She couldn’t. Not when the weight of Sandrone’s silence pressed against her from the other room like a physical force.

She exhaled sharply, rolling onto her back. The sheets were too warm, too suffocating. She could hear Sandrone moving in the next room—the creak of the bed, the rustle of fabric, the way her breath hitched every few minutes like she was holding back something she didn’t know how to say.

You looked busy earlier.

I forgot. You don’t care.

The words replayed in her head, sharp and jagged. She wanted to scream. She wanted to march in there and shake Sandrone until she said something—anything—but she knew better. They’d been down this road before. Every time they got too close to the edge, they fell back on the same old rules. The same old agreement.

FUBU. Fuck Buddies. No strings. No feelings. No complications. But it wasn’t working anymore.

The knock was so quiet, Columbina almost missed it. She froze, her fingers tightening around her phone. Another knock—softer this time, hesitant. Like Sandrone wasn’t sure if she even wanted an answer.

Columbina swallowed hard. She should ignore it. She should let this go. But the silence between them was worse than the fighting.

She got up, her bare feet silent against the floor as she crossed the room. When she opened the door, Sandrone was standing there, her hair messy from running her hands through it, her green eyes red-rimmed like she’d been crying.

Neither of them spoke.

Sandrone’s gaze flickered down, then back up, her throat working like she was trying to force out words that wouldn’t come. Finally, she exhaled, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You still… want to?”

Columbina’s chest tightened. Want to. Like it was just another night. Like they were just two people who didn’t give a damn about anything but getting off.

She should say no. She should walk away. But the alternative was worse.

“…Yeah.”

The word tasted like ash.

The blindfold was silk, cool against Columbina’s fingertips as she pulled it from the drawer. Sandrone didn’t protest when she held it up, didn’t flinch when Columbina tied it gently over her eyes, securing it at the back of her head.

“I don’t want you looking at me like that,” Columbina murmured, her voice rough. Sandrone didn’t answer. She just stood there, her breath shallow, her hands clenched at her sides. Columbina could see the way her pulse jumped in her throat, the way her lips parted like she was about to say something—then thought better of it.

Columbina’s own hands trembled as she reached out, brushing her fingertips along Sandrone’s collarbone. The skin there was warm, soft. Familiar. But tonight, it felt different. Like touching a stranger.

A quiet shiver betrayed her.

With barely any space between them, Columbina brushed her lips against Sandrone’s ear. “You’re shaking.”

Sandrone swallowed, her voice uneven. “So are you.”

Columbina didn’t respond—she didn’t need to. She pressed forward, her body molding against Sandrone’s, her hands sliding down to grip her hips. Sandrone was taller, broader—stronger—but right now, she felt fragile. Like she might break if Columbina pushed too hard. She didn’t pull away. She kissed her instead.

It wasn’t like their usual kisses, hot and hungry. This one was slow. Careful. Like they were both afraid of what might happen if they let go. Sandrone’s lips were soft, parted just enough for Columbina to slip her tongue inside.

A quiet sound escaped her—something between a whimper and a sigh—and her hands finally unclenched, rising to tangle in Columbina’s hair.

The kiss deepened, fingers digging into Sandrone’s waist, pulling her closer. She arched into it, her body responding even as her mind fought back. Columbina felt the tension in her—the way she was holding herself together, the way she was trying not to feel.

She wasn’t the only one.

Columbina broke the kiss, her forehead pressing against Sandrone’s. “You’re thinking too much.”

Sandrone let out a shaky laugh. “So are you.”

Columbina guided Sandrone backward until the backs of her legs hit the bed, then pushed her down gently. Sandrone went without resistance, her hands gripping the sheets as Columbina climbed over her, straddling her hips.

For a moment, they just looked at each other—well, Columbina looked. Sandrone couldn’t see a thing, but she could feel. The way Columbina’s thighs bracketed hers. The way her breath hitched when Columbina leaned down, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below Sandrone’s ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Columbina whispered, her voice raw.

Sandrone’s breath caught. “Don’t.”

Columbina stilled. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say things like that.”

A dull ache settled in her chest. She wanted to argue. She wanted to say she meant it—that she always had—but the words lodged in her throat. So instead, she kissed her again.

This time, there was no gentleness. No hesitation. Only need. Desperation. The kind of kiss that made Sandrone’s back arch off the bed, her fingers digging into Columbina’s shoulders like she was afraid of falling.

Restless hands didn’t stay still for long. They slid down Sandrone’s body, mapping every curve, every dip, every place that made her gasp. When her fingers found the hem of Sandrone’s shirt, there was no asking. She pulled it up, breaking the kiss only long enough to yank it over her head before tossing it aside.

Next came the bra. With practiced ease, Columbina unhooked it, her breath hitching when Sandrone’s breasts spilled free, her nipples already hard, already begging for attention.

There was no waiting. She dipped her head, her tongue swirling around one tight peak before taking it into her mouth. Sandrone moaned, her hips jerking up, her hands flying to Columbina’s hair, holding her there like she never wanted to let go.

Columbina hummed against her skin, the vibration making Sandrone gasp. She switched to the other nipple, her teeth grazing just enough to make Sandrone’s back arch, her thighs squeezing together.

“You like that?” Columbina murmured, her lips brushing against Sandrone’s skin.
Sandrone’s only answer was a broken whimper.

Columbina smirked—just for a second—before trailing her lips lower, her hands working at the button of Sandrone’s jeans. Sandrone lifted her hips without being told, letting Columbina strip her bare, her panties following the jeans to the floor.

For a moment, Columbina just looked. Sandrone was spread out beneath her, blindfolded, trembling, her skin flushed, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She was perfect. And Columbina wanted her so badly it hurt.

She leaned down, her lips pressing against the inside of Sandrone’s thigh. Sandrone’s legs fell open wider, an invitation Columbina didn’t hesitate to take.

The first lick was slow. Deliberate. A tease.

Sandrone’s hips jerked. “Ahhh—”

Columbina didn’t stop.

She licked again, her tongue flat against Sandrone’s clit, savoring the way Sandrone’s thighs trembled around her head. Then she sucked, just lightly, just enough to make Sandrone’s breath hitch, her fingers tightening in Columbina’s hair.

She dove in, her tongue working in tight, relentless circles, her fingers sliding down to tease Sandrone’s entrance. Sandrone was soaked, her body already desperate, already needing.

Columbina slid one finger inside, then another, curling them just right, her tongue never stopping, never giving Sandrone a chance to catch her breath. Sandrone’s moans filled the room, her hips rocking against Columbina’s face, her body chasing the pleasure Columbina was giving her. Columbina could feel her getting closer, her walls fluttering around her fingers, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Columbina—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Columbina didn’t let up. She added a third finger, stretching Sandrone just enough to make her cry out, her back arching off the bed as her orgasm crashed over her. Columbina rode it out, her tongue never stopping, her fingers never still, until Sandrone was trembling, her body oversensitive, her breath coming in broken sobs.

Only then did Columbina pull back, pressing a kiss to the inside of Sandrone’s thigh before crawling up her body.

Sandrone was still blindfolded, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with sweat. Columbina hovered over her, her own body aching, her own need coiled tight in her belly.

She didn’t ask. She just kissed Sandrone again, letting her taste herself on Columbina’s lips, letting her feel how desperate she was.

Columbina reached up, her fingers brushing against the blindfold. “Take it off.”

Sandrone hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached up, pulling the silk away. Her eyes were red. Wet. Columbina’s chest ached. Sandrone didn’t say anything.

She just leaned down, pressing her forehead against Columbina’s, her breath shaky.

Columbina wanted to say something. She wanted to fix this. She wanted to tell Sandrone that she was sorry, that she cared, that she—

But the words wouldn’t come. So she just kissed her instead. Soft. Slow. Like an apology.

Sleep had already claimed her by the time the sheets were finally untangled. Moving quietly, careful not to wake her, Columbina’s fingers trembled as she pulled the blindfold from the pillow and tucked it back into the drawer. There was no response. Not even a stir.

For a long moment, she simply stood there, watching.

Dark hair was fanned out across the pillow, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. She looked peaceful. Like none of this had happened. Like none of it had ever happened at all. The sight made Columbina’s throat burn.

Leaning down slowly, she pressed a kiss to the temple, letting her lips linger just a second too long.

A whisper escaped her lips, barely more than a breath. “I wish you’d let me love you.”

The words hung there, fragile and raw, swallowed by the quiet room. Not loud enough to reach the other side of the bed. Not loud enough to matter.

And yet, the weight of them stayed, pressing into the stillness, heavy and unfinished.

She pulled back, heart aching, leaving only the empty space between them.

Nothing moved. Nothing changed.

Not yet.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

The world was burning.

Not in flames—in silence.

Sandrone stood in the middle of an empty street, her breath coming out in short, panicked gasps. The sky above was washed in dull gray, like it had forgotten how to be blue. The buildings were blurred, melting at the edges. Everything felt wrong.

“Columbina?” she called.

Her voice echoed back at her. 

No answer. 

She started walking. Then running. Her boots hit the pavement too loud, too fast. Her heart was pounding like it was trying to escape her chest.

“Bina—!”

She turned a corner.

And froze.

Columbina was there. Lying on the ground. Her long black hair with magenta highlights was spread around her like spilled ink. Her pale skin looked even paler under the dead light of the sky. Her eyes—those light pink, pearl-like eyes that always looked ethereal, unreal—were half-open.

Blurred blue pupils staring at nothing.

Not at her.

Not anymore.

“No—no, no, no—”

Sandrone dropped to her knees beside her, hands shaking as she reached out.

“Hey. Hey, look at me. Please,” she whispered. “You’re just joking, right? This isn’t funny.”

She grabbed Columbina’s shoulders.

Cold.

Too cold.

“Bina,” she cried. “Wake up. Please. I’m here. I’m right here.”

Nothing.

No breath. No movement. No warmth.

Her chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

“I didn’t mean it,” Sandrone sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got jealous. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry I didn’t—”
Her voice broke.

“I need you. Don’t leave me. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll break the rules. I’ll tell you everything. Just—just stay.”

Columbina didn’t move.

The world faded.

Sandrone woke up with a sharp gasp. Her body jerked upright, her hand flying to her chest. 

She was breathing. Too fast. Too shallow. Her vision was blurry. Her pillow was damp. Her cheeks were wet.

She was crying.

It took her a few seconds to realize she wasn’t alone.

Someone was watching her. Carefully. Worriedly.

Columbina was sitting beside her on the bed.

Her light pink eyes—soft, pearl-like, almost glowing in the morning light—were filled with panic. Her long black hair fell loosely over her shoulders, strands of magenta catching the sun. Her pale skin looked even softer up close.

She looked… alive. Very alive.

“Sandy?” Columbina whispered. “Hey. What happened? You were shaking. You were crying. Did you have a nightmare?”

Sandrone just stared at her. For a full minute, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. She had to make sure.

Her trembling hand reached out and grabbed Columbina’s wrist. Warm. Real.

Her breath hitched.

Then everything from last night came rushing back. The silence. The anger. The desperate touches. The way they had clung to each other without saying why. The way they had fallen asleep tangled together.

Skin to skin. No walls. No rules. No lies.

She looked down. They were still naked under the sheets. Still close. Still tangled.

And suddenly, she broke. A broken sob tore out of her chest as she collapsed forward, burying her face against Columbina’s shoulder.

“I thought—” she cried. “I thought you were gone.”

Columbina stiffened in shock. “Sandrone?”

“I saw you,” Sandrone whispered, her voice cracking. “You weren’t breathing. You wouldn’t wake up. I tried—I tried everything. I couldn’t save you.”

“I was so scared. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. Please. Don’t go.”

Columbina’s heart twisted. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Sandrone, pulling her closer, pressing their bodies together.

Columbina was still holding her. Too tight. Like she was afraid Sandrone might disappear if she loosened her grip.

Sandrone stayed still. She wasn’t good at this. At emotions. At crying in front of people. At being seen.

Her beige hair had already come loose from its messy bun, strands sticking to her damp cheeks. Her blue-grey eyes were red, unfocused, staring somewhere between Columbina’s collarbone and the wall.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Then Columbina whispered, “Sandy… listen to me.”

Sandrone tensed. “I’m listening,” she muttered.

Barely audible.

Columbina swallowed. “I didn’t start this because I liked you,” she said quietly.

Sandrone’s jaw clenched. “I know.”

Columbina blinked. “You… do?”

“You were annoying,” Sandrone replied flatly. “You flirted like it was a sport.”
“…Okay, rude.”

“It’s true.”

Columbina almost laughed.

Then her expression softened again. “I did it on purpose,” Columbina admitted. “I wanted to mess with you. You were so serious all the time. So closed off. I thought… it’d be funny.”

Sandrone snorted weakly. “Figures.”

“I didn’t think about consequences,” Columbina continued. “I didn’t think you’d matter to me. I didn’t think I’d care.”

She looked down. “I thought it was just sex.”

Sandrone’s fingers twitched against the sheets.

“…Me too.”

Columbina lifted her head. “Really?”

Sandrone hesitated.

Then sighed.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “At first.” Her voice was rough. “You were… convenient. You were there. You wanted me. You didn’t ask for anything else.”

She frowned slightly, like she hated herself for saying it. “So I thought, fine. Whatever. I can do this.”

Columbina listened without interrupting.

“But then,” Sandrone continued quietly, “you started staying.”

Columbina’s breath caught.

“You’d fall asleep in my bedroom. You’d steal my pillow. You’d complain about my alarm.”

Her voice softened despite herself. “You acted like you belonged here.”

She looked away. “And I didn’t stop you.”

Columbina whispered, “Sandy…”

“When you left,” Sandrone cut in, “I thought I’d finally relax.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t.
I couldn’t sleep. I kept checking my phone. I kept thinking something was wrong with it.”

She swallowed hard. “And then that night.”

Columbina froze slightly. “…Which night?”

“The call,” Sandrone said. “When I was almost there—and then I almost said something that crossed a line.”

Her hands clenched. “I stopped myself at the last second.”

“From what?”

A pause. Then, quietly: “From telling you I love you.”

Silence crashed between them. Sandrone continued quickly. “I panicked. I hung up. I pretended it was nothing.”

Her voice cracked.

“I spent the whole night thinking you heard it. Thinking you’d hate me. Thinking I ruined everything.”

Columbina reached for her hand.

“I didn’t hate you.”

“I know that now,” Sandrone muttered. “I didn’t then.”

She exhaled shakily. “That’s when I realized I was screwed.”

Columbina gave a shaky smile. “Because…?”

“Because I wasn’t missing sex,” Sandrone said bluntly.

“I was missing you.”

“That week,” Columbina whispered, “I felt the same.”

Sandrone stiffened.

“I missed you everywhere,” Columbina continued. “In stupid places. In hallways. In my bed.” She laughed weakly. “I kept replaying that call. Wondering what you were going to say.”

“You… noticed?”

“Of course I did,” Columbina replied softly. “I’m not stupid.”

She cupped Sandrone’s cheek. “I was scared you were pulling away.”

“I was scared you’d leave,” Sandrone admitted.

They stared at each other. Two idiots. Same fear. Different silence.

“I’m sorry I started this like a game,” Columbina whispered. “I’m sorry I confused you. I’m sorry I pretended it meant nothing.” 

Her voice broke. “It meant everything.”

Sandrone froze. Then slowly leaned into her touch. “I didn’t say anything,” Sandrone whispered. “Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of ruining it,” she replied immediately. “Of you leaving. Of things getting complicated. She frowned. “I’m bad at feelings. I don’t know how to be… normal.”

Columbina smiled sadly. “Good. We hate normal.”

“Exactly.”

Sandrone wiped her face. “So I stayed quiet. And acted cold. And pretended I didn’t care.”

Her voice cracked. “I cared too much.”

Columbina hugged her tightly. “I love you,” Columbina whispered. “I didn’t mean to. But I do.”

Sandrone froze.

Then—

“…I love you too,” she muttered.

“Don’t make me say it again. You already ruined me,” she muttered.

Columbina stiffened. “Sandy, that’s not—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she snapped quickly, turning away. “I mean—in a good way. Obviously.”

She hesitated, then leaned forward anyway, resting her forehead against Columbina’s.

“One stupid night,” Sandrone went on, voice shaking. “One shared room. One of your dumb smiles.” She clenched her fists.

“And now I can’t pretend you’re just… my annoying roommate.”

Silence.

Then Columbina laughed softly, through her tears. “You’re terrible at lying,” she said fondly.

“Shut up,” Sandrone muttered. “This is your fault. You kept teasing me. You knew what you were doing.”

“Maybe,” Columbina admitted.

Sandrone huffed. “But… I’m glad you’re here,” she added quietly. “I don’t want another dream where I lose you.”

Columbina pulled her closer. “Then don’t let me go.”

“Tch.”


A beat.


“…Like I’d let you.”

Then, quietly, Columbina asked. “Do you… have class?”

Sandrone blinked, her throat tight. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with the time. 8:47 AM. “…One,” she murmured.

A relieved exhale brushed against her shoulder. “So… we still have time.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even suggestive. The word hung between them, unspoken but heavy.

Sandrone pretended to scoff, rolling her eyes even though Columbina couldn’t see. “You’re clingy.”

But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she shifted just enough to press her back more firmly against Columbina’s chest, letting the other woman’s arm tighten around her. Columbina’s lips curved against her skin, a smile that wasn’t quite steady.

Then Sandrone hesitated.

Her fingers stilled where they’d been tracing idle patterns on Columbina’s forearm. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “…You’re sure?”

Columbina froze.

“About… us.”

The words hung in the air, fragile as glass. Sandrone couldn’t look at her. She stared at the wall instead, her pulse hammering in her throat.

Then Columbina’s hand cupped her face, turning her gently until their eyes met. Her light pink eyes were wet, her lashes damp. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Sandrone’s breath hitched. “You say that now.”

“I’ll say it tomorrow too.” Columbina’s thumb brushed over her cheekbone, her voice steady, her gaze unflinching. “And next week. And next year.”

Sandrone closed her eyes. And for the first time, she believed her. The shift between them was slow. Not a rush. Not a frenzy. Just… breathing.

Columbina’s fingers traced the line of Sandrone’s jaw, then her collarbone, then the dip of her waist, like she was memorizing her. Like she was afraid Sandrone might vanish if she stopped touching her. Sandrone let her, her own hands mapping Columbina’s body in return—the curve of her hip, the softness of her stomach, the way her breath hitched when Sandrone’s fingers grazed the underside of her breast.

“Don’t disappear,” Sandrone whispered.
Columbina pressed their foreheads together, her breath warm against Sandrone’s lips. “I won’t.”

“Ever.”

“Never.”

The promise settled between them, heavy and sweet. They moved together like they were afraid of breaking each other.

Columbina rolled her onto her back, following her down, hands braced beside her shoulders. Their bodies aligned naturally—skin against skin, warmth sinking into warmth. Without thinking, Sandrone’s legs parted, sliding around Columbina’s hips, keeping her close.

Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed. Not careless. Just deep and aching, like neither of them wanted to be the first to pull away. It left Sandrone breathless, fingers curling into the fabric at Columbina’s back.

“I love you,” came the soft whisper against her mouth.

Her hands slipped into dark hair, tugging her closer. “I love you,” she answered quietly, like saying it too loudly might make it disappear.

A gentle shift followed. Hips rolled slowly, searching, building heat between them. The friction drew a soft sound from Columbina before she could stop it, her nails pressing into Sandrone’s shoulders as she leaned in closer.

“Say it again,” she murmured, forehead resting against hers. Like she needed to hear it. Like she never wanted to forget how it sounded.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

A low groan slipped from Columbina as her forehead fell against Sandrone’s shoulder as she rocked against her, her clit swollen and throbbing. 

“Fuck, I—I love you so much.”

Breathless laughter escaped Sandrone as her hips lifted to meet the movement. “We sound ridiculous.”

Columbina kissed her, hard and desperate. 

“I don’t care.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love—oh, Nghh—”

Fingers found the sensitive peak of her nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. A sharp gasp escaped, back arching instinctively.

“Columbina—Ahh—” Sandrone breathed, voice trembling.

“Say it,” Columbina whispered against her lips.

She flushed, biting her lip. “I… I love you—ah!—”

Their mouths met again, crashing together as Columbina’s fingers slid lower, teasing through the damp curls between Sandrone’s legs. 

Sandrone was already wet, her pussy slick and swollen, her thighs trembling. Columbina groaned into the kiss, her own arousal dripping down her inner thighs.

“You’re… so wet,” Columbina panted, her fingers teasing Sandrone’s clit in slow, maddening circles. “God, you feel so good.”

A sharp whine escaped Sandrone, hips jerking up instinctively. “Please—”

“Please what?”

Sandrone’s face heated, eyes darting away before meeting hers again. “…Make love to me.”

Columbina’s breath hitched. She pulled back slightly, taking in the way Sandrone’s chest rose and fell, lips parted, cheeks flushed. “You… you want me to make love to you?”

A small, reluctant nod. “Yes. Just… hurry up already,” she muttered, biting her lip, trying to sound annoyed—but her voice trembled, betraying everything.

Columbina didn’t make her wait. She shifted down the bed, her hands gripping Sandrone’s thighs and spreading them wide. 

The first lick was slow, deliberate, her tongue dragging through Sandrone’s folds before flicking over her clit. Sandrone cried out, her back arching off the bed.

Columbina just licked her again, her tongue flat and firm against Sandrone’s pussy, lapping at her like she was starving. 

Her hands flew to Columbina’s hair, her fingers tangling in the dark strands as she held her there, her hips bucking helplessly.

“Ah…—are you okay?” Columbina murmured, voice soft, brushing lips over her skin. “Does this feel good? Am I hurting you?”

Sandrone trembled, chest heaving, but shook her head. “…No… it feels… amazing,” she whispered, a little breathless, a little shy.

Columbina groaned, the vibration making Sandrone’s thighs tremble. She slid two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and Sandrone moaned, her walls clenching around them.

Fingers moved slowly at first, then with a little more urgency as Columbina felt her responding, thumb pressing gently, attentively. Sandrone’s moans filled the room, but beneath them was a warmth that went deeper than just physical. She thought how different it was now—before, it had been abrupt, careless; now, each touch had meaning, each movement held care.

Ah… it feels so good… I’m so close…” she moaned, eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching at Columbina’s shoulders. Each word was a little vulnerable, a little unguarded, and Columbina’s chest warmed at the sight.

Columbina’s lips brushed over her shoulder, voice low and teasing but soft. “You like that? You want me… like this?”

“Yes… please… don’t stop…” Sandrone whimpered, biting her lip, the tension in her body coiling tighter and tighter.

A shiver ran through her as she finally let herself feel it fully, back arching, walls clenching around Columbina’s careful fingers. Tears spilled down her cheeks, mixing with her breathless moans. “I… I love you…” she gasped, voice breaking with every syllable.

Columbina stayed close, pressing her mouth to Sandrone’s, tasting her, letting her cry into the kiss. Every stroke, every touch, was patient and deliberate, matching Sandrone’s trembling movements, holding her through the wave of pleasure.

Her body quaked, breath coming in ragged gasps, and when she finally shuddered to release, she clung to Columbina, whispering again through her tears, “…I love you… I love you so much…”

Columbina crawled back up her body, her mouth glistening with Sandrone’s arousal. She kissed her, slow and deep, letting Sandrone taste herself on her lips.

“I love you more,” Columbina whispered.

Columbina hummed, pressing her forehead against hers, holding her closer. “You okay? You’re shaking… let me hold you,” she murmured, soft and steady, brushing her fingers along Sandrone’s back.

Sandrone blinked, a mix of vulnerability and lingering tsundere pride. “I’m fine… really,” she muttered, though her grip on Columbina tightened slightly, refusing to let go.

“Good,” Columbina said gently, curling around her, arms snug and warm. “I just want you safe…. Rest here with me for a while?”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at Sandrone’s lips. “…Yeah… I like that,” she whispered, leaning fully into Columbina’s embrace, chest rising and falling against hers.

They stayed like that, tangled together under the morning sun, soft laughter and whispered reassurances drifting through the quiet room. Columbina traced little patterns along Sandrone’s arms and back, kissing her hairline, murmuring words of love and comfort. Sandrone, normally sharp and snarky, pressed closer, finally letting herself be fully cared for, fully soft.

Somewhere outside, the world was waking up—classes, responsibilities, life—but in this quiet golden bubble, nothing existed except them, heartbeat to heartbeat, warmth to warmth.

Columbina rested her lips against Sandrone’s temple. “Morning like this… maybe we should make it a habit,” she murmured softly, brushing her nose against hers.

Sandrone blinked, eyes half-lidded, a flush creeping across her cheeks. “…Maybe,” she breathed, tugging Columbina closer, holding on just a little tighter.

And as they curled together, sun spilling over them, Sandrone’s phone buzzed quietly on the nightstand. Neither reached for it. For a few more precious moments, the world could wait.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

A Week After the Confession

Morning light filtered through thin curtains, soft and pale, brushing over tangled sheets and scattered notebooks.

Sandrone woke up first. She always did.

Not because she had to because her alarm wasn’t set for another thirty minutes but because her body had learned, somehow, that mornings were different now. Lighter. Warmer. Louder in her chest.

Beside her, Columbina was still asleep.

Her long black hair spilled across the pillow, magenta highlights catching the sunlight like quiet flames. Her pale skin glowed softly, almost unreal, like porcelain touched by dawn. One arm was loosely draped over Sandrone’s waist, as if she’d reached out in her sleep and decided—without thinking—that this was where she belonged.

Sandrone stared at her.

For a long time.

She always did that too.

Every morning, she would wake up and spend a few minutes just… looking. As if afraid that if she blinked too long, Columbina would disappear again, like in that nightmare. Like she was something fragile, temporary, too good to be real.

Her blue-grey eyes softened. “She’s really here,” she thought. “Still here.”

Her lips twitched. Stupid.

She gently shifted, careful not to wake her, and reached for her phone on the bedside table. 6:12 AM.

Plenty of time.

She slipped out of bed, grabbed her hoodie, and went to the small kitchenette to make coffee.

Life had settled into a rhythm.

A week after the confession. A week after tears, shaking hands, whispered apologies, and hearts finally being honest. A week of being… together.

Not officially labeled. Not announced. Not clarified. Just… together.

And somehow, that was enough for Sandrone.

By 7:30 AM, they were both ready.

Sandrone sat on the edge of the bed, tying her shoes, her beige hair pulled into a loose bun. A few strands had escaped and framed her face, making her look softer than she liked.

Columbina stood near the mirror, fixing her bag. “Hey, Sandy.”

Sandrone froze. She pretended she didn’t. “Yes?” she answered flatly.

Columbina walked over, leaned down, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Just a small one. Soft. Warm.

“I’ll see you later, okay?”

Sandrone’s ears burned. “T-That was unnecessary,” she muttered.

But she kissed her back anyway. Longer. Deeper. With a hand on Columbina’s waist. They pulled apart, both slightly breathless.

Columbina smiled. “Liar.”

Sandrone grabbed her bag and stood up. “We’re going to be late.”

They walked out together, fingers brushing in the hallway. Then, at the building entrance, they stopped. Different buildings. Different programs.

They stood there awkwardly for a second.

Then Columbina leaned in and kissed her again.

“Good luck today.”

Sandrone sighed. “You’re so clingy.”

“You love it.”

“…Shut up.”

But she smiled. And walked away feeling lighter than air.

Sandrone had always been smart. Everyone knew that. She picked things up quickly, solved problems efficiently, and had a terrifying ability to focus when she wanted to.

But lately? She was on another level. Top of the class. Perfect quizzes. Clean designs. Sharp calculations. Focused presentations. Her professors noticed. Her classmates noticed. Her friends noticed.

Scaramouche leaned over her desk during break.

“Bro,” he whispered. “What did you do to her?”

Arlecchino crossed her arms. “She’s terrifying now.”

Sandrone didn’t look up from her notes. “Do you want something?”

Scaramouche squinted. “You’re… happy.”

“I am not.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I am not.”

Arlecchino snorted. “You literally hummed during thermodynamics.”

Sandrone froze.

“…I did not.”

“Yes, you did,” Scaramouche said. “You were like—” he mocked, humming badly.

She threw her pen at him. “Shut up.”

They laughed.

“Face it,” Arlecchino said. “You’re in love.”

Sandrone’s face turned red. “I’m—no, I’m not— I mean—”

Scaramouche leaned close. “It’s Columbina, isn’t it?”

“…Mind your business.”

Which was basically a confession.

Meanwhile, Columbina sat in the library with Nefer and Lauma. She wasn’t reading. She was staring at her phone. At their messages. At her “Did you eat?” reminders. At her awkward heart emojis.

Nefer noticed. “You’ve been spacing out.”

Lauma nodded. “Thinking about her again?”

Columbina sighed. “Yes.”

She rested her chin on her hand. “I don’t know what we are.”

Nefer blinked. “You’re… dating?”

“Are we?”

“You kiss. You sleep together. You say ‘I love you.’

“I know, but—”

“But?”

“But we never talked about it.”

Lauma frowned. “Does she know that bothers you?”

Columbina hesitated. “No.”

Because Sandrone never seemed bothered. Because she acted like everything was fine. Because she looked secure. Because she trusted me easily.

Columbina, on the other hand, overthought everything. “What if I’m just… convenient again?” she wondered. “What if she still sees this as temporary?”

It scared her.

That evening, Columbina came home late. She was tired. Mentally drained. Emotionally confused.

She opened the door quietly. The apartment was dim. Only the lamp in the living room was on. 

And there, on the couch, sat Sandrone. Curled up. Hoodie is too big. Glasses on. Notebook on her lap. Fast asleep.

Columbina stopped. Her heart softened. She closed the door gently, dropped her bag, and walked over.

She knelt beside her. “Sandy…”

No response.

She smiled and hugged her.

Sandrone stirred. “…Bina?”

“I’m home.”

Sandrone immediately wrapped her arms around her. “I missed you.”

Columbina’s chest warmed. “I missed you too.”

She kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her lips.

Sandrone kissed back, half-asleep. “…You’re warm.”

“You’re cute.”

“I’m not.”

They stayed like that for a while. Then Columbina whispered, “Do you… ever think about us?”

Sandrone opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Like… what we are.”

Sandrone stiffened. “We’re… us.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Sandrone sat up. “…Does it matter?”

Columbina’s smile faded slightly. “Yes.”

Sandrone frowned. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“So I just… want to know where I stand.”

Sandrone looked confused. “You’re… here.”

“With you.”

“That’s where you stand.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Sandrone crossed her arms. “Why are you making this complicated?”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

They stared at each other. Tension. Then silence.

Columbina looked down. “…Forget it.”

Sandrone felt something twist in her chest. She hated this feeling. Misunderstanding. Distance. Fear.

She grabbed Columbina’s hand. “Hey.”

Columbina looked up.

“I’m bad at talking,” Sandrone admitted quietly. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think in labels.”

“…Then what do you think in?”

Sandrone swallowed.

“In… you.”

Her voice was barely audible.

“In waking up next to you.”

“In studying harder so I can support you someday.”

“In making sure you’re safe.”

“In staying.”

Columbina’s eyes widened.

“I just assumed… you knew,” Sandrone whispered. “You’re my girlfriend. In my head. Since that night. Since the dream. Since I almost lost you.”

Silence.

Then Columbina started crying. “Why didn’t you say that?”

“I thought it was obvious!”

“It wasn’t!”

Sandrone panicked. “Wait—are you mad?”

“No, I’m relieved!”

She laughed through tears and hugged her tightly.

“I was scared you didn’t see it that way.”

Sandrone hugged back. “Idiot.”

“You’re worse.”

They kissed. Slow. Gentle. Certain.

“I love you,” Columbina said.

“I love you,” Sandrone replied.

That night, everything felt… easy. No nerves. No awkward silence. No uncertainty. Just them.

Sandrone was already sprawled on the bed, half-buried in pillows, wearing Columbina’s shirt like she always did after they made love. Her beige hair was messy, her blue-grey eyes half-lidded, watching Columbina move around the room. 

“You’re taking too long,” Sandrone muttered.

Columbina glanced back, amused.“Excited?”

“I’m just… waiting.”

“For?”

“…You.”

Columbina smiled.

She walked back to the bed, climbing over Sandrone without hesitation, settling between her legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You know,” she murmured, brushing her nose against Sandrone’s, “we’ve done this like… a hundred times already.”

Sandrone scoffed. “More than that.”

“And yet,” Columbina continued, her voice lowering, “you still get shy.”

“I do not.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not—”

Columbina kissed her. Slow. Deep. Familiar.

The kind of kiss that said: I know you. I love you. I’m not going anywhere.

When they broke apart, Sandrone was already breathing a little faster.

“…So,” Sandrone said quietly. “This is just… trying something new. Not a big deal.”

“Mm,” Columbina agreed. “Just us being curious.”

“And you being bossy.”

“I prefer ‘in charge.’”

Sandrone laughed softly. “Same thing.”

Columbina reached for the drawer this time She placed the box beside them.

Sandrone glanced at it, then back at her. “…You’re sure?”

Columbina cupped her cheek. “I’ve been sure since the moment you said you trusted me.”

Sandrone’s expression softened. “I do.”

“Good,” Columbina whispered. “Then relax.”

Columbina moved with deliberate slowness, her hands tracing the curve of Sandrone’s waist before sliding lower. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Sandrone’s panties, dragging them down her legs with agonizing patience. The air was thick with anticipation, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and Sandrone’s uneven breathing.

“Look at me,” Columbina murmured, her voice a velvet command.

Sandrone obeyed, her blue-grey eyes locked onto Columbina’s as she settled between her thighs. The first touch of Columbina’s tongue was a whisper—a tease—against her inner thigh, making Sandrone’s hips jerk involuntarily.

“Patience,” Columbina chided, her breath hot against Sandrone’s skin. “We’ve got all night.”

Sandrone whimpered, her fingers tangling in the sheets. “You’re killing me.”

Columbina chuckled, the vibration sending a shiver through Sandrone’s body. “Good things come to those who wait.”

And then—finally—her mouth was on her.

The first lick was slow, deliberate, dragging up the length of Sandrone’s pussy with maddening precision. Sandrone gasped, her back arching off the bed as Columbina’s tongue circled her clit, teasing, testing. “Fuck—Columbina—”

“Mm,” she murmured, lips brushing against her skin. “You’re always driving me crazy… and tasting too good.”

Sandrone’s response was lost in a moan as Columbina’s tongue flattened against her, licking in long, firm strokes before focusing on her clit. She alternated between slow, torturous circles and quick, flicking motions, her fingers digging into Sandrone’s hips to hold her in place.

“Oh god—yes—” Sandrone’s voice was a broken whimper, her hands flying to Columbina’s hair, not to pull her away, but to hold her there, to keep her from stopping. “Don’t—don’t stop—”

Columbina didn’t.

She worked Sandrone with her mouth like she was starving, like she’d been dreaming of this for years. Her tongue was relentless, her lips sealing around Sandrone’s clit as she sucked, her free hand sliding up to pinch and roll Sandrone’s nipple between her fingers.

Sandrone’s moans filled the room, her body writhing beneath Columbina’s touch. “I’m—I’m close—”

Columbina pulled back just enough to speak, her lips glistening. “Not yet.”

“What—? Columbina—!”

But Columbina was already moving, shifting her body so she could reach the nightstand. Sandrone watched, dazed, as she retrieved the box she’d placed there earlier. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, pulling out a sleek, black strap-on, the silicone cock already lubed and glistening.

Sandrone’s breath hitched. “You—you planned this.”

A slow smirk spread across her face as she buckled the harness around her hips with practiced ease. “I told you. I’ve been sure about this from the start, Sandy.”

A shiver ran through Sandrone’s body, pussy clenched at the sight of Columbina. “Fuck,” she breathed.

Crawling back over, her body pressing firmly against Sandrone, she whispered low, teasingly, “You like what you see?”

Sandrone nodded, her voice gone. “Yes.”

“Good.” Columbina’s hand slid between them, her fingers finding Sandrone’s entrance. She teased her for a moment, her thumb circling her clit as two fingers pushed inside, curling just right. “You’re so wet for me.”

Sandrone moaned, hips rocking uncontrollably against the hand pressing her down. “Please—please… I need—”

A dark, teasing purr cut through the air. Fingers withdrew, replaced by the tip of the strap-on. “You need me,” Columbina corrected, eyes gleaming.She withdrew her fingers, replacing them with the tip of the strap-on. “Say it.”

Breath catching, chest heaving, the words tumbled out against her will. “I… need you,” Sandrone whispered, shivering.

Columbina’s smile was triumphant. “That’s my girl.”

And then she pushed inside.

The stretch was intense—not painful, but full, the silicone cock filling Sandrone in a way that made her gasp, her nails digging into Columbina’s shoulders. “Oh fuck—”

“Breathe,” Columbina murmured, her voice steady, grounding. She didn’t move, just let Sandrone adjust, her hands stroking her sides, her thumbs brushing over her nipples. “You’re doing so good.”

Sandrone whimpered, her body trembling as she took Columbina deeper. “It’s—so much—”

“You can take it,” Columbina assured her, her voice a low, confident rumble. 

And then she started to move.

Slow at first—gentle, shallow thrusts that let Sandrone feel every inch of her. But as Sandrone’s moans grew louder, as her body relaxed around her, Columbina’s pace quickened. Her hips snapped forward, driving the strap-on deep, her hands gripping Sandrone’s thighs to hold her open.

“Yes—yes—Ahhh—!” Sandrone’s voice was a broken cry, her back arching off the bed as Columbina hit that perfect spot inside her, over and over. “Right there—don’t stop—!”

Columbina didn’t.

She fucked her hard, her body moving with a rhythm that was all dominance, all control. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with Sandrone’s desperate moans and Columbina’s low, approving growls.

“You take me so well,” Columbina praised, her voice rough with arousal. “Such a good girl for me.”

Sandrone’s orgasm hit her like a wave, her body convulsing as pleasure ripped through her. “Columbina—!I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” Columbina groaned, her thrusts growing erratic.

Sandrone’s scream was raw, her body clenching around the strap-on as her orgasm crashed over her. 

For a long moment, neither of them moved. They just lay there, tangled together, their breathing ragged, their skin slick with sweat.

Then Columbina pulled out slowly, careful, her hands gentle as she helped Sandrone shift onto her side. She pressed a kiss to her shoulder, her voice soft. “You okay?”

Sandrone hummed, her body still trembling with aftershocks. “Mm. More than okay.”

Columbina chuckled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Sandrone’s hip. “Good. Because we’re not done.”

Sandrone’s eyes flew open. “What—?”

But Columbina was already moving, her hands sliding down Sandrone’s body, her fingers finding her clit again. “I want to hear you scream again.”

Sandrone’s protest died on her lips as Columbina’s fingers circled her, slow and deliberate. “You—you monster—”

Columbina laughed, low and dark. “And you love it.”

Later, when Sandrone was clinging to her, breathing unevenly, half-buried against her chest, Columbina just held her.

One arm secure around her back.

One hand brushing through her hair. Slow. Reassuring.

“See?” Columbina whispered. “I told you. I’ve got you.”

Sandrone laughed weakly. “You’re… scary good at this.”

“Practice.”

“Excuse me?”

“With you,” Columbina added immediately.

Sandrone’s ears burned. “…Oh.”

They stayed like that for a while.

No talking. Just quiet breathing. Warm skin. Comfort.

To be continued…

Chapter Text

Sembreak had finally started. No classes, no deadlines, no alarms—just an entire week of doing absolutely nothing.

It had been a few months since they had officially put a label on what they were. Since then, their “roommate era” had quietly died, replaced by something messier, warmer, and a lot less innocent.

Now, with a full week off and nowhere they were expected to be, sembreak meant one thing: too much free time and absolutely no self-control.

“Quality time,” they liked to call it.

In reality, it usually meant locked doors, messed-up sheets, skipped meals, and waking up way past noon.

The dorm had slipped into that quiet, half-awake state it always reached late at night, when most people were either asleep, out somewhere, or hiding in their rooms with their lights off.

It was already well past midnight when the kitchen was lit only by the soft glow of the fridge and the dim lamp above the sink, throwing uneven shadows across the counters.

Sandrone sat on the edge of the countertop, her bare legs swinging slightly, one of Columbina’s oversized shirts hanging loosely over her small frame.

She was half-asleep, half-bored, scrolling through her phone with one hand while the other traced slow, absent circles on the cool surface beside her. Every now and then, she blinked a little too long, fighting sleep.

The silence was filled by the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of voices drifting in from somewhere down the hall.