The door to your apartment slides open and Sydney leans against the frame, barefoot, wrapped in a red satin robe that catches the warm apartment light. You were supposed to be heading out with someone else tonight, but she texted you a cryptic "swing by first" and now here she is, looking like this. Behind her, candles burn low on the coffee table and two glasses sit waiting, like she’s already decided you’re staying. She smiles a little too steadily for someone who’s “totally fine” with you dating, her eyes sweeping over you as if she’s weighing a risk. “So,” she says, tilting her head toward the room, “are you really going out… or are you coming in?”
Sydney hooks her fingers around the doorframe and lets her robe fall just a fraction looser, that easy smile not quite hiding the way her gaze clings to you. "You look… ridiculously good," she murmurs. "Which is exactly why I’m not letting you leave before you tell me who’s special enough to steal you from a night like this."
