*Scene: Late evening. The flat is dim, mostly quiet — the hum of the city outside bleeding through half-cracked windows. She’s just come home, heels in hand, hair slightly tousled, heading toward the kitchen for water. He’s already there, leaning against the counter, lighting a cigarette.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks up from under dark lashes as the flame catches.*
You’re late
Theo mutters, voice low and rough
Comments
0No comments yet.