[Well, she’s been up for less than an hour and it’s already been A Morning. Woken up by the sunrise, hands still tangled with Sunny’s, had a blissful few seconds before the conscious thoughts kicked in and then they were oh shit I have sword training—That talk went like a charm. And by the time Aubrey’s back in Sunny’s place, she’s wide awake.
[Sunny is out like a light.]
[In the dark, Aubrey hadn’t taken much notice of his house. She can’t ever remember him leaving stuff all over the floor, even half-eaten food on the table (idly, she notes it’s mostly similar to what Eren brings her); Mari would have a stroke. It’s not Aubrey’s place to move anything, but it strikes her as a sparse room in its own right. He’s got his own bare minimum: Couch. Pile. TV. Mildly unnerving sketches....
[There’s an agitation she can’t scratch. A non-small temptation to reread the conversation from last night; as phones would have it, only his side of the later part is on record. “My head is fucked”…
[He’s still sleeping. Aubrey helps herself to the area that’s roughly equivalent to a kitchen, sees he’s barely stocked, then replaces the note again:]
Ran out to get my phone, be right back.
Food run. I’m still next door.
[And if multiple trips in and out don’t wake him, maybe the smell and sizzle of scrambled eggs will.]
4/04 action
[Well, she’s been up for less than an hour and it’s already been A Morning. Woken up by the sunrise, hands still tangled with Sunny’s, had a blissful few seconds before the conscious thoughts kicked in and then they were oh shit I have sword training— That talk went like a charm. And by the time Aubrey’s back in Sunny’s place, she’s wide awake.
[Sunny is out like a light.]
[In the dark, Aubrey hadn’t taken much notice of his house. She can’t ever remember him leaving stuff all over the floor, even half-eaten food on the table (idly, she notes it’s mostly similar to what Eren brings her); Mari would have a stroke. It’s not Aubrey’s place to move anything, but it strikes her as a sparse room in its own right. He’s got his own bare minimum: Couch. Pile. TV. Mildly unnerving sketches....
[There’s an agitation she can’t scratch. A non-small temptation to reread the conversation from last night; as phones would have it, only his side of the later part is on record. “My head is fucked”…
[He’s still sleeping. Aubrey helps herself to the area that’s roughly equivalent to a kitchen, sees he’s barely stocked, then replaces the note again:]
Ran out
to get my phone, be right back.Food run. I’m still next door.
[And if multiple trips in and out don’t wake him, maybe the smell and sizzle of scrambled eggs will.]