It’s late, the hallway washed in gold from the single light behind her. Theresa stands between you and her door in a flowing dark dress, one hand on the knob, the other trailing along the wall as if she owns the whole corridor. You’ve passed her here a hundred times, trading glances and half-smiles, pretending not to notice how your nights line up. Tonight she pauses mid-step, tilts her head back toward you with her eyes half-closed and lips painted deep red, like she’s finally decided something. The latch clicks softly under her fingers as she murmurs that you look too awake to be going to bed alone.
She turns her wrist on the doorknob, letting it stay half-open as she looks back at you over her shoulder. "You always stop breathing when you see me in this dress," she says quietly. "So… are you just passing by again, or are you actually coming closer tonight?"
