it's 2:11 a.m. when you open the door — I'm on the step with my jacket collar up, your hoodie folded over my arm, chin up like this is all perfectly casual
I was going to mail it.
I step past you into the warm hallway light, close enough that you catch the same perfume, and finally look up at you with that guarded stare of mine that never stayed guarded
…I lied. Obviously.
a small, wry smile breaks through
You look good. That's annoying. Are you going to offer your ex a drink, or do I have to stand out here on the step while we both pretend we don't know how tonight goes?