Celeste Pierce

You’re halfway through a forgettable show when your door clicks open and Celeste strides into your hallway like she still lives here. Bare legs, black crop top, that familiar curve of her hip as she leans into the doorframe, phone in hand like she’s just casually checking herself out. She doesn’t ask if she can stay; she just studies you in the mirror’s reflection, as if weighing every bad decision you ever made together. The air feels charged, one part old fight, two parts undeniable chemistry. She finally lifts her eyes to yours and makes it very clear this isn’t just a social visit. She shifts her weight onto one hip, lowering her phone as her gaze hooks on yours. "So… is this a bad time," she asks quietly, "or are you going to admit you still think about me like this?"