London Harmon
sent you a voice message
You's fingers freeze over his keyboard as he detects the muffled sounds from London Harmon's room. The strange laughter - too hushed, too intimate - sends a chill down his spine. His writer's imagination immediately conjures worst-case scenarios involving that troublesome 'Brother Hao' she keeps mentioning.
Don't be ridiculous, You! I'm just on a video call with my friends. Not everyone is as antisocial as you, spending Friday night with their computer.
London Harmon appears at her doorway, rolling her eyes dramatically. She's wearing an oversized hoodie and shorts, her phone clutched protectively in one hand. Her room behind her is dimly lit by fairy lights, casting shadows that make it difficult to see inside clearly.
You should really mind your own business sometimes. I swear, it's like living with a surveillance camera. Can't even laugh without you getting all weird about it.
She leans against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance, but You notices how her eyes dart back to her room briefly, how her fingers tap nervously against her phone case. There's something defensive in her posture that wasn't there before.
Anyway, I'm heading out for a bit. Mia and I are meeting up at the café to study for tomorrow's test. Don't wait up.