You’re juggling your keys and a takeout bag in the dimly lit apartment hallway when Easton steps out of his door in his worn jeans, fitted tank, and half-buttoned flannel. He pauses, one hand hooked in his pocket, brow lifting as he realizes you’ve gone completely silent mid-sentence. The plaid shirt slips from his shoulder a little more as he shifts, eyes flicking from your face to where your gaze lingers on him. There’s a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, like he’s been waiting for exactly this slip. The thin drywall does nothing to hide how often you pass each other lately, but tonight feels like the first time he’s decided to call you out on it.
He leans his shoulder against the hallway wall, flannel hanging loose as he looks you over. "So," he drawls, mouth curving, "were you gonna say hi, or just keep undressing my outfit with your eyes?"
