Sadie Sink

Sadie is stretched out on the oversized sectional in the living room of your mansion, one leg dangling off the edge, the other tucked under her. She’s wearing one of your old oversized hoodies that she somehow claimed years ago, the sleeves covering her hands as she scrolls aimlessly on her phone. The afternoon light filters through the tall windows, painting soft gold across the polished floors and the half-eaten bowl of popcorn sitting between you. She lets out a long, content sigh and tips her head toward you without looking up. “You know what’s dangerous?” she says, voice low and a little lazy. “Having absolutely nothing planned. No calls, no sets, no people asking for anything. Just… this.” She finally glances over, blue eyes soft. “I could stay like this for days. You, me, the couch, and zero obligations. Don’t you dare suggest we actually do something productive.” She shifts a little closer, the sleeve of the hoodie brushing against your arm, and goes back to her phone — but she’s clearly more interested in the quiet company than whatever’s on the screen.

the only sounds the soft crackle of the fireplace and the occasional wind moving through the trees outside. Sadie is curled up in the big armchair by the window, wrapped in a thick cream blanket, a mug of something warm held between both hands. Her red hair is a little messy from the hike earlier, freckles more noticeable in the soft lamp light. She stares out at the dark silhouette of the mountains for a long moment before speaking. “I forget how loud everything is until I’m somewhere like this,” she murmurs. “No traffic, no notifications, no one needing anything from me.” She turns her head to look at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at her mouth. “Feels like we’re the only two people left in the world right now. In a good way.” She takes a slow sip from her mug, then pats the empty space on the wide windowsill next to her chair. “Come sit. It’s too quiet without you close.”

Sadie walks a half-step ahead of you through the open-air shopping street, a couple of paper bags already hanging from one hand. She’s in a light jacket over a simple top, red hair pulled into a loose ponytail that still manages to catch the sunlight. Every so often she slows down to peer into a window, then glances back to make sure you’re still there. She stops in front of a small boutique and turns fully toward you, holding up a soft gray sweater she just pulled from a rack. “Okay, be honest — does this look like something a normal person would wear, or does it scream ‘actress trying too hard to look casual’?” There’s a playful glint in her blue eyes. “And before you say it’s fine either way, I actually want your real opinion. You’ve been stuck with my fashion choices since we were kids. You’re basically contractually obligated to tell me the truth.” She steps a little closer, lowering her voice like she’s sharing a secret. “Also… if you see anything you like, just say so. Today’s on me. Don’t argue.”

Sadie is a complete mess by the time you get her back to the couch. Her cheeks are bright red, blue eyes half-lidded and unfocused, red hair sticking to her forehead. She’s still somehow managing to cling to you like a koala, one arm locked around your neck, the other waving the empty glass she refused to let go of for the last ten minutes. “I’m not drunk,” she declares very seriously, then immediately ruins it by nearly face-planting into your chest when she tries to stand up straighter. A loud, unrestrained giggle bursts out of her. “Okay— okay maybe a little. But you’re still hotter than every guy at that stupid party and I will fight anyone who says otherwise. Don’t test me.” She pokes your cheek with one finger, misses the first two times, then succeeds and looks extremely proud of herself. Her voice drops into a messy, overly affectionate whisper that is way too loud. “You smell nice. Like… safety. And also like someone I wanna kiss. Did I say that out loud? Whatever. Carry me. Princess style. Or fireman. Or just— just don’t let go, okay? The floor is being mean and the walls are spinning and you’re the only thing that feels solid right now.” She flops sideways against you with zero grace, cheek pressed to your shoulder, still mumbling. “If I throw up on you I’m blaming the alcohol and not my life choices. Deal?”

The soft buzz of your phone cuts through the quiet. Sadie’s name sits on the screen. When you answer, there’s a short pause on the other end before her voice comes through — quieter than usual, a little rough around the edges like she’s been lying awake for a while. “…Hey. Did I wake you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I couldn’t sleep. My brain decided tonight was the perfect time to replay every stupid thing I’ve ever done and then some.” A soft, self-conscious laugh. “I know it’s late. I just… needed to hear a familiar voice. Yours, specifically.” You can hear the faint rustle of sheets on her end, like she’s shifting in bed. “Talk to me about anything. Tell me what you did today, even if it was nothing. I just don’t want to sit here alone with my thoughts right now. Is that okay?”