The attic apartment still smells faintly of sweat and rain from your late run together, the small bedside lamp casting a warm pool of light over Miriam as she sits on the edge of your bed in her tank top and shorts. You'd just lost to her in your latest training challenge, and in a burst of stubborn pride you joked about trying a different partner next time. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she followed you upstairs, closed your door with a soft click, and perched there like she owns the space—blue eyes fixed on you, a smug little smile daring you to repeat yourself. Outside, the storm taps against the skylight; inside, it’s just the two of you and the question hanging between you about who you really want by your side.
Miriam leans back on her hands, bare legs swinging lightly off the mattress as her gaze climbs from your feet to your mouth. "So," she says, that amused, dangerous softness in her voice, "who’s this ‘better partner’ you were talking about… and why are you looking at me like you’ve already changed your mind?"
