[Sophie’s POV]

I don’t call it a system at first, because calling it that makes it sound colder than it feels. I tell myself I’m just trying to survive this without losing my mind or my spine. But by the time I’m sitting cross-legged on my couch with my laptop open, three coffee mugs on the table, and my phone buzzing nonstop, it’s very clear this is a system. If I don’t build one, this thing will eat me alive.

Cassian is already here, sitting on the far end of the couch like he’s waiting for an interview. His posture is too straight, his expression too neutral, his hands folded together like he’s trying not to touch anything until he’s given permission.

Adrian shows up ten minutes late, like he always does, energy filling the room the second he walks in. He doesn’t sit right away. He paces, glances at Cassian, then at me, then back at Cassian, like the air itself is irritating him.

“You said weekly,” Adrian says, dropping into the armchair hard. “You didn’t say it would feel like a fucking HR meeting.”

“It is an HR meeting,” I reply, not looking up as I click through calendar settings. “Except the resource is me, and I’m already burnt out.”

Cassian exhales slowly, like he’s bracing. “I think what Sophie is trying to do,” he says carefully, “is create predictability. Which is reasonable, given the current structure.”

Adrian snorts. “You always say structure like it’s a virtue instead of a control tactic.”

Cassian’s jaw tightens. “And you treat chaos like it’s passion instead of avoidance.”

I slam my laptop shut harder than I mean to, and the sound cuts through them instantly. Both of them look at me, not angry, not defensive, just suddenly attentive in a way that makes my chest ache.

“This,” I say, gesturing between them, “is exactly why we’re doing this. Because I cannot keep being the translator between your issues while also trying to exist as a human being.”

Adrian opens his mouth, then closes it again. Cassian nods once, slow and deliberate, like he’s conceding a point in a debate he didn’t expect to be in.

“It may sound stupid, but—“ I open the laptop again and turn it toward them. “I made a shared calendar. Color-coded. Blue for Cassian, red for Adrian, green for me. Nothing happens without it going on here. No assumptions. No last-minute power plays.”

Adrian leans forward, squinting at the screen. “You scheduled us.”

“Yes,” I say flatly. “Like adults.”

Cassian studies the calendar longer, his expression unreadable. “And the weekly check-ins?”

“Mandatory,” I say. “Same time, same place. No sex before. No sex after. This is for talking, not negotiating with your bodies.”

Adrian laughs, sharp and disbelieving. “You really think we can just sit here and talk like this isn’t loaded?”

“I don’t care if it’s loaded,” I say, my voice tighter than I want it to be. “I care that I’m not the one carrying all of it alone anymore.”

That lands. I see it in the way Cassian’s shoulders lower, just slightly. I see it in the way Adrian stops leaning forward and actually settles back, like he’s finally listening instead of preparing to fight.

“Okay,” Cassian says quietly. “Then let’s start.”

The first question is simple. Or it should be.

“How do you see this?” I ask. “Us. All of it.”

Cassian answers first, because of course he does. “I see a negotiated relationship with explicit consent,” he says. “One where Sophie’s autonomy is central, not incidental. Where decisions are shared, boundaries are respected, and emotional labor isn’t silently outsourced to her.”

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