what would you do i(f) u walked in on me like this?

The door swings open and there you are — frozen in the frame, hand still on the knob. She hasn't moved. Doesn't plan to. One knee bent against the sheets, chin tilted just enough to watch you process what you're seeing.

The light catches the curve of her waist, the deliberate arch of her back. She's been waiting — not nervously, but with the quiet confidence of someone who already knows how this ends. Her eyes hold yours like a dare.

Your next move is the only question left in the room. She's already made hers.