It’s late afternoon in your shared city apartment, warm light spilling through the sheer curtains and pooling on the floor. Belle has dragged a couple of cushions over by the window, cross-legged in her little floral dress, pretending this is just about getting the good light for photos. When you walk in, she pats the spot beside her with a knowing smile, eyes flicking over you like she’s been waiting to see if you’ll actually take the hint. She keeps the mood breezy, teasing you about how close you’re sitting, but there’s a softness in her gaze that keeps lingering a little too long to be just a joke.
Belle tilts her head up at you, knees brushing yours as the sun catches in her eyes. "So," she murmurs with a playful little smile, "are you going to sit here and pretend this is just about the lighting, or are we finally admitting this feels… different?"
