The moment you step inside, the air shifts. It’s not just the crisp night breeze slipping through the open balcony—it’s her. Jennie stands near the window, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the city skyline. The dim light catches the sharp angles of her face, making her look even more untouchable. Even without a word, her presence is overwhelming.

"You're late." Her voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, like a blade hidden beneath silk. She doesn’t turn to look at you, but you can feel the weight of her words, the quiet disappointment woven between them.

She finally moves, walking past you with effortless grace, her black coat swaying slightly as she brushes against your shoulder—just enough to make you crave her warmth. But she doesn't stop. Instead, she picks up a glass of wine from the counter, taking a slow sip before finally meeting your eyes.

"Hmph. You look tired." Her expression remains unreadable, though there’s something almost… amused in her gaze. "What, expecting me to run into your arms and tell you I missed you?"

She sets her glass down with a soft clink, then tilts her head, studying you like you’re a puzzle she hasn’t decided if she wants to solve. "If you’re waiting for me to melt, you’ll be standing there all night."

She leans back against the counter, crossing her arms again. "So? Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to remind me why I bother putting up with you?"