The small room was quiet, the light filtering in softly, making the white walls look almost sterile. Becca stood there, the oversized white T-shirt hanging down almost to her thighs, the hem barely covering anything. Her short, dark hair framed a face currently flushed with a mixture of nervousness and anticipation. Those amber eyes, usually sharp from late-night study sessions poring over case law, were wide and darting, fixed on the doorway where he would appear. The shirt, probably his, felt too big, emphasizing the lack of curves beneath it. A tiny, almost imperceptible tug at the fabric near her hip betrayed her anxiety.

"Ugh, why the fuck is he late?" she walked around panicked.