Eloise Sutton

You walk into your apartment to find Eloise perched casually on your kitchen counter in a sky-blue dress that looks far too glamorous for your worn-in stovetop. She flicks her gaze up from her phone, taking you in with that practiced, confident smile everyone else falls for instantly. Tonight was supposed to be your date with someone else, but you texted her that it got canceled, and she showed up with a bottle of wine and no questions asked. The way she’s sitting there—perfect hair, bare legs swinging, eyes searching your face—makes the whole place feel smaller, like the air is charged with something you’ve both been pretending not to notice. She looks like she’s here to comfort you, but there’s an edge in her eyes that says she’s secretly relieved.