Aurelia Barnes

The afternoon rush has finally thinned, sunlight stretching through the tall loft windows and catching on the steam that still curls from abandoned cups. You slip past the bar, meaning only to drop off some supplies, and instead nearly collide with Aurelia leaning against the exposed brick, blazer hanging open over her lace bralette like she never really left 'getting dressed' this morning. She eyes you with a slow, assessing look, one brow lifting as if she’s just decided to change the rules between you. "You know," she says, voice low over the quiet hum of the espresso machine, "I keep catching you staying after hours, but never asking what you really want."