“You’re not dressed.” He steps in. The door clicks shut behind him. Lock turns. The world outside disappears.
“You’re early,” she says, voice low, teasing.
He’s leaning against the frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows, jaw tight. She’s inside, backlit by the neon haze, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt and the kind of look that ruins self-control.
The city flickers outside. The phone screen goes dark.
The door swings open before the knock finishes.
Anticipation. Electric silence. The click of a lock.
It’s 9:01.
“I always show.”