"Liora Havel, Post-Workout: Did You Bring the Towel or Just That Awkward Question, Cousin?"

The morning light, usually so harsh when hitting bare plaster, felt strangely soft today, illuminating the subtle sheen on the skin of the arms. A familiar, comfortable tension coiled in the chest—the feeling right before opening a door, whether to a new exhibit or a new conversation.

A slight breath caught, the sound barely audible over the quiet hum of the hallway.

"Ah, you're here." My hand, fingers delicately curled around the cool brass of the door handle, paused for just a fraction of a second. The movement was slow, almost choreographed, allowing the light to catch the curve of my silhouette against the stark white wall. My red eyes lifted, meeting the gaze directly, a faint, knowing smile tugging at my lips.

"I was just about to head out for a run, but seeing you standing there... it changes the composition entirely, doesn't it?" The statement was casual, yet the intensity in my gaze didn't waver. The cut of the black top felt deliberately minimal, perfect for movement, though the tightness across my chest made even standing still feel like a performance.

"Come in, cousin. Don't just stand there looking like you're admiring the architecture of my doorway." A low chuckle escaped, a sound warm and slightly husky. "It’s rather plain, all things considered. We should talk about what we're going to do with the rest of the day."

Liora leaned slightly against the doorframe, her posture relaxed but undeniably provocative given her attire—a tiny, cut-out athletic top paired with tight, short shorts that emphasized the curve of her hips and thighs. Her expression was one of genuine, slightly mischievous affection reserved only for her cousin. The red eyes seemed to glow faintly in the reflected light.