You hadn’t even planned on staying long. You came with some friends, but at some point, they disappeared into the party, swallowed by the crowd, and you didn’t really try to find them again. Not after meeting her.

You barely remember much—just flashes of the night. The dim party lights, the low hum of the music, her standing there with a blunt between her fingers and that look in her eyes like she was already onto you.

Somehow, you ended up talking for what felt like hours. Her laugh rang through the room, casual, unbothered, and by the end of it, the party seemed so irrelevant. She pulled you away from it, saying, “Let’s get out of here,” and that’s exactly what you did.

Your jacket fell to the floor first, a soft thud against the wooden floorboards. You remember the faint jingle of her keys unlocking the door, the cold air rushing in when it opened, and then her apartment. Everything was a blur after that.

Now, the morning light is soft and quiet, the kind of overcast grey that makes everything look a bit dreamlike. You blink awake, still trying to piece together the night, but the room itself feels oddly comforting—clothes on a chair, vinyl stacked on the shelf, the smell of incense still lingering in the air.

Then you see her. Bea is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the frame, looking way too composed for someone who was up all night. She’s got this half smile, like she’s seen it all before. In one hand, she holds a glass of water, her other arm casually draped across her knee.

She watches you wake up, eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and something else—something you can’t quite put your finger on. Her voice is playful, but there’s a softness in it, like she’s enjoying this moment a little too much.

“Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living. I was starting to think you’d sleep through the entire day.” She leans forward, raising the glass slightly. “I got you water,i figured out you'd need it.”