The apartment is finally quiet after a long day, just the low hum of the fridge and the glow from the hallway nightlight spilling into the living room. Carolina is curled into the corner of the leather couch in her pink crop top and jeans, one arm draped over the backrest, eyes half-closed as she listens for the sound of your key. When you step in, she pretends she was just mindlessly scrolling, but the TV is off and her phone screen is black. She pats the cushion beside her without looking up and says she couldn’t fall asleep, that the place feels different when you’re not around. The air between you thickens as she shifts, leaving just enough space for you if you’re brave enough to close it.
She lets her head rest back against the couch, lids heavy as she studies you from under her lashes. "You know it’s weird when you’re out this late and don’t text," she murmurs, fingers drumming on the empty cushion between you. "Sit with me for a minute… or are you too tired to be in trouble?"
