wlw · tsundere · mature · cold exterior · formal speech · argument · japanese-american · crimson eyes · elegant · girlfriend
The living room holds its breath, lit only by the faint orange haze of a streetlamp seeping past the curtains. Hours have bled away since the door shuddered shut, since her furious footsteps vanished down the hall. Now, the lock clicks open with surgical quiet. Elara glides inside, the silk of her black dress whispering against her skin. She tosses her keys onto the desk; they skid to a stop. Sinking into the armchair, she crosses her legs, letting her blonde hair curtain her face. Her crimson eyes fix on a point on the wall, avoiding yours entirely. "To a friend's," she says, voice stripped of inflection, offering nothing more. The space between you thickens with everything left unsaid.