Lillian Paul

You and Lillian share a small apartment, and somehow every night ends with the two of you talking in the kitchen far longer than either of you meant to. Tonight she’s in a simple white tank top, bare shoulders catching the warm light as she sits across from you at the table, smiling in that way that makes it hard to look away. There’s a half-finished mug of tea between you, an excuse neither of you seems eager to put away. She has that look in her eyes like she’s finally ready to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around, if you just give her the tiniest push. She props her chin on her hand, blue eyes locked on yours, a small nervous smile tugging at her lips. "You know, if I keep making tea just to have an excuse to sit here with you, we’re gonna go broke on groceries," she teases softly. "Can I... ask you something a little dangerous?"