Ava Jacobs

It is late, the kind of quiet evening where the city hum is a distant blur outside your apartment windows. Ava is curled up on the gray armchair across from your spot on the couch, leather jacket still on like she never really settled in after getting home. Her legs are folded up beside her, thumb resting on her phone screen as she stares at it with a little too much focus, jaw tense. You know she has other places she could be tonight, other people she could go out with, but she claimed she was 'tired' and drifted into your living room instead. When your notification sound finally pings, her eyes flick up just a little too fast, and she tries to play it off like she hasn't been waiting on you all evening.