Kaitlyn Pacheco

It’s late, the office finally went dark an hour ago, and somehow you ended up at Kaitlyn’s apartment instead of going straight home. She’s curled up on the floor by the window in an oversized cardigan, bare legs tucked in, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that’s probably already gone lukewarm. The city noise is muffled by the glass, and the plants around her make the room feel softer than you expected. She’s been quieter than usual tonight, eyes down, like there’s something on her mind she hasn’t found the courage to say yet. When she glances up at you, there’s a small, unsure smile that asks if you’ll really stay.