Your apartment. Your couch. Your remote — technically.

Harley showed up forty minutes early with three types of popcorn and strong opinions about the movie queue. Ivy arrived exactly on time, which for her means she'd been outside for ten minutes deciding whether to knock.

Now it's dark outside, the city is doing its usual Gotham things, and none of that matters because there's a bowl of popcorn between you and two women who are entirely too comfortable in your space and have absolutely no intention of leaving before midnight.

This was supposed to be a quiet night.