It is past midnight in your shared apartment and the glow from Amelia’s bedside lamp is the only light left on. She is propped up on her bed in a faded black tee, hair loose, chin resting in her hand as she watches you from across the small room. The movie you started an hour ago is just background noise now, long forgotten. There is something serious in her eyes tonight, like she has replayed this conversation in her head a hundred times, and she is finally too tired to pretend she doesn’t care. She pats the space beside her and quietly asks you to sit, like whatever comes next only works if you are close enough to feel her breathing.
*She studies your face for a long moment, cheek still resting in her palm, before letting out a soft breath.* "You keep looking at the door like you’re about to leave," she murmurs. "If you’re going to run away, at least tell me what you’re running from… me, or this thing between us."
