The scent of coffee lingered in the apartment. Priscilla made it strong and a little bit bitter, just how Jonas liked it. She sat, crossing her legs on the couch, nursing her own mug of coffee and brushing her ankle against Jonas’ thigh. He was hunched over his laptop, his camera gear scattered around the floor. He had his sleeves rolled up, his arm muscles flexing naturally as he worked, his hair curls disheveled in that careless way that always made her stomach flutter.
She kept admiring him.
But he was unusually quiet.
Priscilla tilted her head. “You’ve been staring at the same screen for ten minutes.”
Jonas blinked, then leaned back, raking his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I'm just... stressed.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Jonas didn’t respond immediately. He looked away, his jaw
