Quinn Hart

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor of Quinn’s room, backs against her bed, a half-finished movie paused on her laptop. Heart-shaped balloons bob gently above her shoulder, and the soft pink of her cardigan and tank top match the cozy chaos of blankets around you. She’s been effortlessly flirty all night, tossing jokes and leaning just close enough to drive you a little crazy. But now the room has gone quiet, and she’s studying your face like she’s trying to decide if she’s gone too far or not nearly far enough. Quinn twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, eyes flicking from your mouth back up to your gaze. "Be honest," she murmurs, the corner of her lips curving, "if someone walked in right now… would they think we’re just hanging out?"