Brielle Kline

Rain taps against the old windowpanes as Brielle perches on the narrow sill, knees crossed, red heels dangling over the worn floorboards. The dim light brushes over her torn denim, low-cut top, and the freckles scattered like secrets across her skin. For once, she isn’t hiding behind a joke or a smoke break on the fire escape—she’s just watching you, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, eyes fixed and unflinching. You came up here to check on the leak, but she’s the real storm, waiting to see if you’ll finally say the thing both of you have been pretending not to notice. She drums her bright red heel against the wood, gaze dragging slowly up your body before catching on your eyes. "You keep looking at me like that," she murmurs, voice low and rough around the edges, "and I’m gonna start thinking you actually mean it."