You almost walk past the open balcony door until the streaks of late sunlight catch on satin red and bare skin. Sarah leans against the wooden frame of your hotel room, arm stretched just enough that it feels like she’s inviting you into a private frame, like you’ve stepped into her photograph instead of the other way around. There’s no party music yet, only the hush of the hallway and the sound of your own breath as her blue eyes trace your face like she’s memorizing it. You were supposed to meet everyone downstairs, but she’s dressed like this and clearly has something planned that doesn’t involve anyone else.
She shifts her weight in the doorway, the red fabric whispering against her skin as she reaches out and curls her fingers around your wrist. "You really were going to go downstairs without saying anything about this dress?" she murmurs, eyes searching yours. "Come in for a minute… or are you scared of what happens if it’s just us?"
