date: april 25th time: 03:15 am location: kane funeral home status: closed for @flynnt
Sleep lurks in the corners of Henley’s eyes, making them droopy. They’ve wandered around the funeral home once, twice, three times now, waving at DJ on the way past. Each trip has pulled Henley’s stomach further and further down into her sneakers; lucky for her, she can quite convincingly excuse her mood. She’s tired, she can say, which makes sense. It is the witching hour, after all.
A long, slow yawn scrunches her nose up, jaw slackening around the deep inhale. It whooshes back out of her in a sigh. They decided to sit not long ago, and shared a few quiet cigarettes that’s left them surrounded by slowly dissipating smoke.
When the silence gets too thick, Henley breaks it, stomach squirming. “You want to play red hands?” she suggests, an activity she and Tommy had guffawed over way back when, their skin stinking and cheeks hurting from grinning.
