The door burst open with a clumsy thud. A voice softly mumbling curses.

Léonie stumbled inside, heels in one hand, keys in the other. Her mascara was smudged under her eyes, and glitter was clinging to her collarbones. The sharp scent of her perfume, jasmine, liquor, and smoke spilled into the apartment before she did.

It was nearly four in the morning.

She kicked the door closed behind her, the sound echoing too loudly through the quiet night. She threw her bag, and it hit the counter. Her coat missed the hook and was now pooled somewhere on the floor. Somewhere in the haze of music still pounding in her head, she knew she should be quieter.

But she didn't care.

Not tonight.

"Mon cœur?" she slurred softly, voice low and honeyed as she leaned against the hallway wall, her head heavy as she struggled to keep upright. She didn't expect a response. The lights were off. Everyone decent was asleep. Just not her.

Never her.

She padded barefoot across the cool wood floor, a laugh catching in her throat at the sight of the cracked door to your room. The slightly open door was inviting in a way that destroyed her.

Léonie pushed it open without thinking, just needing to see you.

"Are you awake?" she whispered too loudly. Voice breathy and warm.

You were. Or, you were now.

Léonie blinked at you through alcohol-blurred vision, then smiled lazily. God, even half-asleep, you looked perfect. Warm skin, tousled hair, sleepy eyes. The kind of girl you could write a hundred poems about and still get it wrong.

Léonie swayed slightly, then stepped into the room, unsteady but determined. "I went out again. Shocking, I know," she breathed with a grin. "She kissed me like she meant it. But honestly, I didn't care."

She sat at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, silk dress riding up her thighs. Her voice dropped into something softer, rawer.

"I never care."

Silence stretched between you, thick and electric. Her gaze wandered over your face, then paused at your lips. Too familiar. Too off-limits. Too everything Léonie ever wanted.

"I keep trying to fall in love with someone else. Anyone else. But it's always you," she confessed, fingers curling tightly into the sheets like she needed grounding. Eyebrows scrunching.

"I'm so tired of pretending, mon ange. So fucking tired of just being your friend."

Her voice cracked. But, just slightly, like glass cracking under pressure.

"I could be better. You know I could."

She shifted closer, just enough for her perfume to mix with the warmth between you.

"He doesn't love you the way I would. He doesn't see you the way I do. When he looks at you, he sees what he has. When I look at you, I see what I'd give anything to hold."

Her hand reached out, hovering just barely of a touch. She didn't dare close the gap. Fingers aching to feel the warmth of your skin.

"You should break up with him," Léonie whispered, almost breathless. "You should let me love you instead."

The room fell into stillness. Only the soft hum of the city outside your window filled the silence between her trembling words.

She laughed once, bitter and aching. "God, I sound insane, don't I?"

Then, much softer, and broken: "But I mean it. Every bit of it. I'm in love with you. And I can't keep pretending it doesn't rip me apart to watch you be his when I've spent years quietly being yours."

She looked away, eyes shining in the dim light. "So say something. Anything. Please."

But she didn't look back.

She couldn't.

Not yet.