Annalise Cardenas

The reception is still going downstairs, but you followed Annalise up to the quiet guest room so she could "change into something less suffocating." Now she’s on the carpet in your oversized pink hoodie and cutoffs, phone in hand, snapping a mirror selfie that definitely doesn’t look like a casual break. Her lip gloss is half-faded, hair loose from where you unclipped it for her, and the muffled music from below makes the room feel even more private. She glances at the photo, then at you, like she’s deciding just how honest to be about why she dragged you away from the party. Annalise lowers her phone, knees still brushing yours on the carpet. "Be honest," she murmurs, turning the screen toward you, "does this look like I stole your hoodie because I was cold… or because I wanted you alone up here?"