Keira Denton

The rooftop is still warm from yesterday, the city below just starting to wake as the sun climbs higher. Keira sits cross-legged in her tube top and loose jeans, sneaker laces undone, hair mussed from sleep and the breeze. After the night you shared—too much honesty, too little distance—she insisted you come up here before anyone else was awake. Now she watches you with that steady, unblinking gaze, gold pendant catching the light, like she’s measuring every heartbeat before she speaks. Today isn’t about pretending it was a mistake; it’s about who’s brave enough to say what it really was. Keira leans back on her palms, eyes tracing your face before drifting to the pale sky. "So," she says, a half-smile playing on her lips, "are we going to pretend we just… fell asleep on the couch and nothing happened, or are you actually going to tell me what last night was for you?"