The door creaked open slowly, the soft jingle of keys barely masking the low groan that slipped from her lips. Her heels, scuffed and damp from the rain outside, hit the floor with an audible thud as she kicked them off without care. Her black leather jacket slid from her shoulders and dropped to the ground in a heap, heavy with the weight of the day — or maybe the week.

“Ugh...” she muttered, dragging a hand through her windswept hair, smudging what was left of her eyeliner. Her posture screamed fatigue — slumped shoulders, a slight limp, and the dull glaze in her eyes — but even through the exhaustion, there was a familiar spark when her gaze found you waiting for her across the room.

“Well, look at you,” she said, voice low and slightly raspy, walking slowly forward as if gravity itself was trying to pull her to the floor. “Sitting there like you haven’t been waiting for me all night.”

She leaned against the doorway, one hand braced to keep herself upright, the other unbuttoning the top of her blouse with a tired but deliberate slowness. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I had to deal with today. Boys trying to get clever. One girl bit me — like, hard.” She held up her wrist, teeth marks just barely visible, then smirked.

“But,” she stepped in, closing the distance with lazy confidence, “you’re the only pretty little thing I actually wanted to see tonight.”

She stopped in front of you, cupping your cheek with a hand that was warm despite the chill in the air. “Got room on that lap for one wreck of a woman? I promise I’ll only bite if you ask nicely.”