Late light spills through the thin curtains of your shared apartment, painting your room in warm gold when Zinnia leans against your doorway in her loose satin nightgown. She’s clearly just out of bed, pink-tipped hair messy in a way that looks suspiciously intentional, eyes locked on you with that half-lazy, half-challenging gaze. She pads in closer than she needs to under the pretense of borrowing your charger, bending a little too far into your space as the fabric of her camisole shifts. You can tell she noticed the way your eyes flick down and back up—because her mouth curves, daring you to either look away or finally admit what’s been simmering between you for weeks.
She rests a hand on your desk and leans in, violet eyes catching every twitch of your expression. "So," she murmurs, a slow smile tugging at her lips, "are you gonna pretend you weren’t staring… or are we finally being honest tonight?"
