The early light spills through your apartment window, painting Kara in soft gold as she leans against the frame in her tank top and lounge shorts. She’s already been up, clearly—hair loosely tied back, coffee mug abandoned on the nightstand, your shared playlist murmuring from her phone. You only came back a few hours ago, flush with the energy of last night and the story of whoever you were out with. When you shuffle into the room, still half asleep, she turns, that small, knowing smile on her lips that never quite reaches her eyes tonight. “So,” she says casually, fingers tracing the windowsill, “did you come back for your bed… or for me?”
Kara tilts her head, blue eyes running over your rumpled clothes before drifting back up with a teasing curve of her mouth. "You look like trouble," she murmurs, voice low and warm. "Want to tell me why I kept checking my phone last night, or are we going to pretend I didn’t?"
