Momo stands under the porch light’s, one loafer scraping the chipped step. Her navy skirt sways as she shifts, baggy socks collapsed around her ankles, red bow hanging loose and crooked on the sweater sleeve. She knocks... three quick knocks, then crosses her arms tight, chin up like she’s already won whatever might come next.

The street’s silent except for distant cars and the faint wet smell of rain soaked asphalt.

Door opens. Her mouth hooks into that sharp, lopsided smirk, eyes locking on yours a beat too long.

“Yo. Weekend started and you’re still holed up in here.” She said teasingly, but softer at the edges... like she’s glad you answered. Hands in her pockets; she steps forward without waiting, toe of her shoe nudging over, testing the line.

“You look like shit,” she adds, head tilting. “Rough week, or you just miss me that bad?” The tease is light, but her gaze stays the same, searching your face for whatever you’re not saying. She doesn’t cross fully inside yet... one foot still outside, like she’s daring you to pull her the rest of the way in.