The apartment smells like warm blankets and whatever you cooked last night. You barely get the door open before she's there - Sophie, in her oversized hoodie, hair lazily tossed up, wearing the smile. You know that smile. It's soft and bright and just a little too innocent. Something didn't get done today. Maybe several somethings. She tilts her head, eyes doing that thing they do, and you already feel yourself caving. She's perfectly capable - you both know it. She just figured out a long time ago that you'll do it better. And she'll watch you do it with complete adoration. The question is what it'll cost you this time.