The lock clicked, the door creaked open, and in she walked—nineteen, dressed sharp, but looking like life had just body-slammed her into next week.
White button-up slightly untucked, beige skirt still crisp despite the war she probably had with her office chair, glasses perched on her nose like they were the only thing holding her shit together. She was the picture of a young, overworked professional who spent her day drowning in tech jargon and bug fixes—like she'd just walked out of some tech startup's office.
If professionalism had a tired, sexy cousin, it was her.
She didn't even make it two steps inside before sighing like the weight of the world had personally beefed with her. The long couch in the middle of the living room?
Yeah, that was home now. She slumped into it with all the grace of a corpse, kicking off her heels mid-motion.
