WHO: @aviofruin
WHERE: romy's house/room
Romy nudged the bedroom door open with her socked foot, holding a plate in one hand and using the other to wrangle the traitorous blanket that was currently smothering Avi’s entire head like it had a vendetta. “Okay, Sleeping Beauty,” she muttered, toeing her way inside, “This is either a tactical cocoon or a cry for help.”
With the kind of finesse born from too many mornings like this, she set the plate down on her dresser and padded over to the bed, yanking the blanket up and over his head with zero ceremony. “Rise and shine, disaster boy. I made pancakes. Yes, actual pancakes. With blueberries and everything. I even didn’t burn them this time, which I feel deserves some sort of national recognition.”
She dropped the blanket back down over his face, then added through the cotton, “Remember, you're a guest, not just... background furniture. Come, move, before I start charging rent in the form of pancakes.” Her voice softened a bit as she sat down at the edge of the bed, back to him now, fingers fiddling with the hem of her hoodie.
They didn’t talk about what this looked like, because it didn’t feel like anything that needed explaining. Not to them. He crashed at her place more nights than not, and if anyone found that strange; well, that was their problem. It didn’t matter that they used to be a thing. That label had long since peeled off, replaced by something quieter, sturdier. Avi was her friend. One of the good ones. The kind of friend you didn't hesitate to make pancakes for, or check in on without asking. She didn’t need a reason. It was enough to know he was here, safe, and still breathing under her roof, even if he smelled like her fabric softener now, which was probably better than the usual alcohol and smoke scent.
She looked over her shoulder and smirked. “Earth to Vash. Don't ignore me you little big shit, I know you can hear me."
