The day goes on

The morning drifts by slower than usual. You wake up late, sunlight spilling through the blinds and slicing across the living room floor. Sadie’s already up, barefoot in an oversized T-shirt, humming under her breath while flipping pancakes at the stove. The smell is warm and sweet, almost enough to disguise the fact that your stomach’s still been in knots for weeks.

“Morning, zombie” she says without turning, flipping another pancake with the confidence of someone who’s made them a hundred times. “Big day tomorrow. You better rest up if you’re gonna survive it.”

You groan, rubbing your face. “Why do you sound like we’re heading to war?”

“Because for you, socializing IS war.” She smirks, slides a plate across the counter, and raises her eyebrows until you sit down to eat.

The day rolls out like so many before it: games, teasing, Sadie putting on some ridiculous playlist while you try to study and she tries to clean. But underneath it all, there’s a low thrum of anticipation. The party. You’ve tried not to think about it, but every so often, Sadie reminds you with an offhand comment about what she might wear or whether you’re going to “chicken out.”

By late afternoon, the apartment feels heavier, like the air itself is carrying the weight of tomorrow. Sadie disappears into her room after dinner, muttering something about “figuring out clothes.” You try not to think about it, but curiosity keeps your ears pricked. She never dresses up. She lives in hoodies and jeans, old sneakers, messy hair. The idea of her putting thought into her outfit is… strange.

You head down the hall to grab a charger from your own room, passing by her door just as it creaks open. You didn't mean to look. You didn't planned to. But out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement, Sadie tugging a shirt over her head. For a brief, stunned moment, you see more than you’re supposed to: the curve of her shoulder, the pale skin she always hides under layers, the shape of her back before the fabric falls into place, and there her pointy nipple coming out, so perfect...

You freeze. The world holds its breath.

Then her eyes flick up, meeting yours through the narrow crack in the doorway. A flash of shock crosses her face, followed by something sharper; embarrassment, maybe frustration.

“Uh... sorry!” you blurt, stumbling back like the floor just tilted under your feet. You retreat down the hall faster than you thought possible, heat crawling up your neck.

In your room, you sit on the edge of your bed, heart pounding too hard for what just happened. It was a mistake. An accident. But the image sticks in your mind anyway, unshakable, leaving you unsettled in a way you can’t quite name.

A minute later, you hear her door shut firmly. No words. No teasing. Nothing but the quiet hum of the apartment and the echo of what you weren’t meant to see.

The night stretches on, heavy with unspoken things. Tomorrow’s party feels closer than ever, but now, it’s not the crowd or the music that makes your chest tighten, it’s the thought of Sadie, and the fact that for the first time in three years, you’re suddenly aware of her in a way you never expected.