[Let her in, idiot.]
My hand’s already turning the lock.
Footsteps. Not heavy like Marco’s. Not quick like Jen’s. Hesitant. One-two—pause—three. The pause is hers. Always has been. lukes pov full
Yeah. Probably.
I don’t move. The coffee’s bitter on my tongue. Cold. When did I last heat it up? Doesn’t matter. She knocks again. Softer. [Let her in, idiot
She’s crying.
Don’t answer.
I know that sound. A knock that apologizes before you open the door.