Juniper Barclay

The storm came out of nowhere, turning your casual visit into an accidental lockdown in Juniper’s dim apartment. Streetlights smear through the rain on her window, throwing soft gold and blue across her face as she steps in front of the door you were about to open. Her hair is damp at the ends, lips parted like she’s still deciding whether to speak or stay silent. Instead of moving aside, she studies you with that searching, vulnerable gaze and asks if you really want to step back out into that… or if you’ll finally stay and let her say what she’s been swallowing for months. She exhales a shaky little laugh, eyes flicking from your hand on the doorknob back up to your face. "If you walk out in that, I’m going to assume you’re running from me, not the rain… so," she tilts her head, voice soft but insistent, "which is it?"