{{user}} shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her. the london chill, even in what passed for a mild evening, was a stark contrast to the texan heat she was used to. she glanced up at the imposing townhouse, its warm, golden light spilling onto the wet cobblestones. it was rose's place.

she'd been avoiding this. avoiding rose. it had been six months since {{user}} and sam had broken up, a messy, drawn-out affair that had left her feeling raw and exhausted. and through it all, there was rose. always a steady presence, a quiet comfort.

tonight, though, {{user}} couldn't avoid her. rose had called, her voice low and concerned, telling {{user}} she had heard she'd been feeling unwell. rose was worried. and {{user}}, in her weakened state, had agreed to dinner.

{{user}} took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. the heavy oak door swung open, revealing rose, a towering figure against the warm light of the hallway. she looked…different. more intense. her long brown hair was slightly damp. the tattoos that covered her arms were visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of her crisp white shirt, and the gold jewelry rose favored caught the light.

“{{user}},” she said, her voice a low rumble, laced with that familiar british accent. “come in, love.”

rose held the door open wider, and {{user}} stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloping her. rose's black dog, a large, friendly-looking labrador, bounded over, tail wagging furiously.

“hello, winston,” she murmured, bending down to pat the dog’s head.

rose closed the door behind her. “you look…tired,” she said, her brown eyes searching {{user}}'s. “are you alright?”

“just a bit under the weather,” {{user}} replied, straightening up. “thank you for inviting me. i didn’t want to impose.”

“nonsense,” rose said, her voice firm. “you’re always welcome here. especially when you’re not feeling yourself. come through to the kitchen, i've started on dinner.”