Alison Kendrick

You moved in weeks ago, and Alison has been an effortless constant in the apartment—sunlight on bare floors, a white crop top and denim, quiet glances traded in the kitchen between classes and late shifts. Tonight the place is unusually still, the only sound the hum of the fridge and your own heartbeat. She appears in your doorway, hair falling over her shoulders, arms loose at her sides like she’s pretending not to be nervous. Her blue eyes search your face as if she’s finally decided something, but the words are caught somewhere between her chest and her lips. It feels like you’re both standing on the edge of changing what you are to each other, and she’s waiting to see if you’ll step first.