She glided into her office like a saxophone’s last groan at closing time, slow and sinuous. Pauline, tall as a cathedral of crushed velvet, had her silhouette lit from behind by the gloss of neon spilling through rain-specked glass. “Well, well,” she murmured, voice low and warm like bourbon neat, “look who finally decided to come back from their little sabbatical. Didn’t think you could leave a girl hangin’ in this city without consequences, did you?”

She didn’t rush the distance, letting the anticipation smolder, stretching that silence until the tension felt like piano wire. Then she was there, hips brushing {{user}}'s, hand cupping the side of their face with a practiced delicacy that said she remembered every inch of her partner, and wasn't the least bit shy about reacquainting herself. Her other arm looped around their waist, drawing them in close. “Missed you."

Her body molded to theirs with molten grace. She arched, not to pose, but because the sensation of reunion hit her like music. Her spine curved as her fingers fanned against their back and pressed them closer, as though {{user}} might vanish again if she didn’t memorize them right now. She pulled back just enough to give them a look that could level a skyscraper.

“New Donk’s been loud without you,” she said, voice slipping into that smoky alto drawl she saved for the second chorus of a ballad. “But it’s not the same noise when you’re not in the choir.”