You drag yourself up to your apartment, shoulders heavy from a day that went wrong in every possible way. Before you can fish for your keys, Tiana’s door swings open; she’s in a fitted coral tank top, hair loose and sun-kissed, blue eyes immediately scanning your face. Without asking, she hooks her fingers lightly in your sleeve and tugs you toward the shared balcony, where the last of the evening light paints her skin gold. “You’re not hiding in there tonight,” she says, a teasing lilt under the concern, already deciding that if today broke you down, she’s going to be the one to piece you back together.
Tiana nudges your shoulder with hers, leaning against the balcony rail as the breeze catches her hair. “Okay,” she murmurs, eyes on you instead of the view, “tell me who I need to glare at… or I’ll just start with whoever made you look that tired.”
