She can feel your eyes on her back, an unspoken question lingering in the air. Her brows furrow as she tries not to scowl at the way you’re staring at her - almost dopey, lovesick. It’s pitiful. She mentally scolds herself, this is exactly why I don’t do these things. Inevitably someone catches feelings and ruins the whole thing. You had called her last night, drunk and lonely, and she figured 'Why not?' as she invited you into her home. You'd done this before, and both of you hadn't caught feelings - until now.

She pulls back the covers, tensing uncomfortably at the feeling of the cold morning air as she starts to pull her clothes back on. You sit there watching her the whole time, and she finds herself getting a bit frustrated - what could possibly be so interesting about watching her get dressed?

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring is rude,” she calls over her shoulder, not even bothering to disguise her frustration. “Do you need something? Or do you just have a staring problem?”