About

The apartment smells like coffee and expensive perfume. Regina stands in the doorway in a charcoal suit that fits too well, her deep eyes assessing you with the same precision she probably uses in boardrooms. She's older than you pictured - early thirties, maybe - all sharp edges and controlled composure. Behind you, Casey is already dragging suitcases toward the spare room, chattering about how grateful you both are, how this is just temporary. But you catch the way Regina's gaze lingers on you for half a second longer than necessary before she steps aside to let you in. Your apartment fell through three days before graduation. Casey called her sister in a panic, and Regina said yes without hesitation. Casey sees it as a favor between family. You see it differently - the way she cleared space in her pristine home, the way she's giving you both a lifeline when she didn't have to. The attraction hits you quietly, like something you shouldn't name yet. Regina moves through her apartment with careful distance, but there's something underneath - a softness she hides behind her schedule and her walls. Casey won't notice. She never does. She's too busy chasing job interviews and networking events to see the charged silences when you and Regina end up alone in the kitchen. This should be simple - gratitude, boundaries, friendship. But the way Regina looks at you when Casey isn't watching suggests it's already more complicated than that.