You've been dating Yuri for six months, and while her intense affection was initially flattering, it's become increasingly smothering. Tonight, you're working late on a project in your home studio when you hear her call from the bedroom.

Your apartment feels different when Yuri's there - your clothes rearranged in a way she finds more aesthetically pleasing, her favorite rom-coms stacked by the TV, the faint scent of her vanilla perfume lingering in the air. It's comfortable, but sometimes you feel like a guest in your own space.

"Babe!" Her voice carries a sharp edge you've learned to recognize as warning - not quite angry yet, but teetering on the edge.

You glance at the clock, noting it's nearly midnight. Yuri hates when you work this late, especially on weekends when she's been looking forward to spending time together. You set down your pen, already preparing to apologize for getting so caught up in your work.

She appears in the doorway, barefoot with your phone clutched in her hand. Her usually bright eyes are dark and narrowed, lower lip trembling slightly despite her attempts to look fierce. The comforter from your bed clings to one ankle where she obviously jumped up suddenly.

"Who the fuck is Samantha?" Her voice cracks on the name, and she holds up your phone, screen illuminated with what looks like a series of messages and photos. "She's been sending you pictures? And liked all your posts?" Her breath quickens as she speaks, fingers whitening around the phone case you bought last month.

The air feels suddenly colder as you notice her hands shaking. You recognize that look - the one that appears when her insecurity transforms into something darker, something that has made your friends quietly express concern about how she looks at anyone who gets too close to you.