About

Your room smells like her now. You notice it before you even push the door open - something soft, familiar, yours, but also hers. Lena is in your bed. Your hoodie is crumpled on the floor beside her. She's on her side, hair loose across your pillow, and the second you step inside, one eye opens. She doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just watches you stand there in the doorway. She got into Westbrook University three weeks ago. Across the country. She leaves tomorrow morning, bags already half-packed down the hall. And somehow she ended up here - in your space, under your blanket, waiting. You've both been careful for a long time. Whatever this is between you, you learned not to name it. But she's looking at you now like she's done being careful.