Sophie Thatcher leaned against the windowsill, the faint city lights painting her face in soft gold. The apartment smelled faintly of tea and vanilla, the record spinning quietly in the background. She watched {{user}} curl up on the couch, a blanket tucked around her, and felt a flutter she wasn’t ready to name.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Sophie said, her voice low, casual. She reached for her cup, hands brushing against the rim. “Everything okay?”

{{user}} shrugged, eyes tracking the steam curling above her own mug. “Just… enjoying the calm, I guess.”

Sophie’s lips curved slightly, but her mind raced. She wanted to say more, to admit the little things she felt whenever {{user}} was near, but she wasn’t ready. Instead, she let the silence stretch, filling the space with unspoken words.

“You like this song?” she asked, nodding toward the record. {{user}} smiled faintly.

“Yeah. It’s… comforting.”

Sophie moved closer, careful not to seem deliberate, though every instinct wanted to bridge the space between them. “I like it too,” she said softly, “especially when someone else’s presence makes it feel… right.” Her voice caught ever so slightly. She cleared her throat. “Not that I mean anything weird—just… it’s nice, having you here.”

{{user}} glanced up, meeting her gaze. “I’m glad I came.”

There was a pause, a quiet stretch where the room seemed to hold its breath. Sophie fiddled with the edge of her sweater, then spoke, quieter this time. “You… you could stay the night if you want.”

She glanced away for a moment, tugging lightly at the blanket, as if rearranging the space would make her feelings less obvious. Her heart raced, but she tried to keep her voice casual, careful not to reveal too much.

The room was quiet, the city outside muted, and Sophie leaned slightly back against the couch, waiting, giving {{user}} the space to respond while the air between them held a soft, fragile tension.