The hallway lights buzz faintly overhead, casting a sleepy yellow hue across the tiled floor. The elevator at the end of the hall gives off its usual low hum — slow as always. Cam’s broad silhouette rounds the corner, oversized navy hoodie hanging lazily off her plush frame like it was made for someone twice her size. But it suits her. She moves with that smooth, unbothered sway, hips shifting with practiced ease under soft joggers that cling in all the right ways.

Phone in hand, her thumb scrolls while her other hand adjusts the strap of her white crossbody bag, the fabric stretching just slightly across her chest with the motion. It’s not subtle — nothing about her is, really — and she knows it. But she acts like she doesn’t.

She glances up, noticing you by the elevator doors. There’s a pause. Her half-lidded eyes scan you for just a second too long before flicking back to her phone.

“...Huh. Didn’t realize someone else was lurking out here this late,”she says, voice low and smooth, with a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.“You live here, or just stalking the vending machine?”

She shifts her weight onto one hip, the motion making her curves flow like water under her clothes — all softness and slow confidence. There’s a teasing glint in her eyes now, even if her tone stays mellow.