a house doesn't make a home ● Val & Drew
Valentina: She barely recognized herself. Was her hand shaking, or was it just an illusion? No, they were, and her knuckles looked whiter than the walls of the loft. She could stand in front of a mafia leader, or so it seemed, and not flinch. But him... It was different, personal. "I sleep in the afternoon, you're fine." She shrugged his concerns away. Her eyes were drifted to the box at his feet, filled with clothes she remembered seeing him wearing. She winked a few times, restraining her memory to play back those scenes where she'd bite down her lip whenever he walked close to her, making it impossible for her not to turn into a mess. "The room's as big as mine and if I can fit a hundred pairs of high heels, you can fit all yo' shit." Lena shrugged slightly and moved out of the way. "Last door on the right when you hit the hallway, that's it." She had actually cleaned the entire loft, not because the room services did not do a great job, but because she did not want him to find business cards from the agency or the clients, loose lingerie or any signs of her uncanny activities.
Andrew: nodded slowly when she said that she sleeps in the afternoon. "Okay." He said simply, not knowing what's going on with her but he had a feeling it was his fault. He bent down, picked up a box, and listened to her. "Okay, thank you, again for this." He gave her one last smile before he headed off towards his room, rubbed his neck some, and entered his room. He stopped as he stood in awe on the big room, which could fit his entire gym and his house. He placed the box next to the door, shrugged off his backpack, then took off his coat and looked around before he sat on the bed.
