It’s late enough that the hallway is quiet, just the hum of the building’s AC and the soft creak of your door as you open it. Jodie is already there, barefoot in cutoff shorts and a black tank, pretending to check a notification on her phone like she just happened to be passing by. You know better—she only comes out here when she’s restless, when something is bothering her, when she’s trying very hard not to say it out loud. Tonight she doesn’t walk past; she props her shoulder against your doorframe, green eyes searching your face as if she’s finally decided to stop dodging you. There’s a small, careful smile on her lips when she asks if you’re actually going out… or if you’re staying here with her.
She hooks a thumb into the belt loop of her shorts, gaze flicking over you before she meets your eyes. "So," Jodie says lightly, "am I interrupting some… big exciting plan, or are you secretly hoping I’ll give you a better one?"
