An Uninvited Guest || Floyd and Sinclair
Sinclair was barely listening to his explanation, her question rhetorical, and more snarky than anything else. But, his last comment drew her attention. Green eyes drained of warmth, Sinclair’s gaze darted over to the door of her bedroom. The bedroom air was pregnant with failed attempts at sleep and the following frustration, the blankets tangled, drenched in sweat, and the walls marred and stained with the backdrop of her nightmares. Her bedroom was the one place that Sinclair truly dreaded at the end of each day. And more often than not, any genuine rest that the woman had was on the couch, passed out from pure exhaustion.
“Guess my evening plans are ruined,” the blonde chuckled sardonically, at her own expense.
"Promise you can watch TV from the floor too for a night, it won't kill ya," he mumbled, biting his lower lip as he worked on getting a particularly large stain out. Floyd's natural assumption was that couches were used for watching television and playing video games, that was what he used his for. It would never have occurred to him that anyone used them for sleeping, unless there was a guest staying over and no air mattress to use. Then he lapsed into silence, getting the couch clean in an hour, give or take. That was the main portion of the room that got soaked, that, the floor, and his clothing. But he could take care of himself at home. "Anywhere I missed?" he asked, brows raised, "'cause other than that, don't use the couch for the day and let it dry off, and you're good. Soda doesn't stain if you get it out right."
