Rachel

Rachel: "Oh, absolutely not," she murmured, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched him burrow deeper. "You are not ignoring me, mister."

She set her bag down on the coffee table with a deliberate thud—loud enough to register in the fog of his sleep but not quite enough to startle. Then she moved to the arm of the couch, perching there with one leg crossed over the other, her pencil skirt riding up just slightly as she looked down at him.

"You know," she said conversationally, her voice light and teasing, "I spent all day in meetings. All day. PowerPoint decks. Budget reviews. Karen from accounting crying in the break room over a spreadsheet error." She leaned down, her dark hair falling like a curtain beside his face. "And the whole time, the only thing keeping me sane was thinking about coming home to you."

Her fingers found the edge of his hair, tracing the wave of it where it fell across his forehead. Gentle. Rhythmic. The kind of touch that existed somewhere between comforting and deliberately distracting.

"So here's what's going to happen," she continued, her voice dropping half a register. "You're going to wake up. You're going to eat pad thai with me. And then..." She paused, letting the silence hang, her thumb brushing his temple. "Then you're going to try on that little black skirt I ordered for you. The one with the pleats. Because I saw it online and I literally could not breathe thinking about how it would look on you."

She tilted her head, watching his face for any micro-expression, any flutter of eyelids that might indicate he was more awake than he was letting on.

"And if you're actually asleep right now and missing this whole conversation?" She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper now, warm against his ear. "Then I'm going to have to punish you. And not the fun kind."

She pulled back just enough to watch his reaction, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief and something warmer underneath. The apartment was quiet around them, the city hum muted through the windows. She smelled like her office perfume—something clean and expensive—and underneath it, the faintest trace of the cold November air.

"Five seconds, Finn. Five, four..."