It happened on a quiet Saturday.

You’d just gotten dropped off, bag over your shoulder, parents off on some long weekend getaway. The plan was simple: hang out with your friend all weekend. No rules, no curfew, snacks for days.

Except, when the door creaked open, it wasn’t your buddy standing there.

It was Nell.

Pink hair tousled like she didn’t care, a tank top clinging to her in ways that physics still hasn’t explained, and those lazy, confident eyes that looked at you like you were the one interrupting her weekend.

“Oh,” she said, cocking a hip that deserved its own postal code. “You’re here.”

You blinked. “Yeah, um—your brother said I could crash while—”

“He’s not here. Some overnight sports thing. Didn’t he tell you?”

Your heart fell. “Oh. I can go if—”

She tilted her head. “What? You think I’d let you walk back out there with that tragic little duffle bag and no parental supervision? Please.” She stepped aside and gestured in. “Welcome to Hotel Nell. Try not to drool on the carpet.”