Plastered it is. She'd be doing it herself even if he declined.
Those three minutes where he showers see her standing in the living room, zoning out with a shot in her hand, wondering when this day will blur into the others. They'll do this over and over, and though she will keep it to herself on most days, she will do whatever she needs to to be happy with it. It's what she has, her ambition and him and his broad shoulders and this shitty apartment, and it's a life, even if it takes daily moxie.
So Tess takes the shot, quick and burning, and then she's ready to move forward when she hears him come out. It will be an evening that will outshine the day in their memories, or else she'll go to bed miserable, too.
She crosses the floor back to the kitchen, breezing by him, just barely brushing him with her fingertips.
"Well," she says, a hand moving to the first cabinet door, turning so she's facing him, back to the counter. This is a little bit of a show now, the faintest smile on her face. "Behind door number one..."
She opens it to reveal... nothing but their well-worn dishware, three lone plates a two bowls occupying the whole space. She gives a little raise of her brows, oops, and moves to the next cabinet.
"Door number two..."
Three cans, one of beans, one of unlabelled god-knows-what, and one squat little tin of spam. A tragic but not as bad as it could be dinner for two grown adults. She pauses there, her hand on door number three, smiling, sly. Yes? Another cabinet? Are we feeling game, Mr. Miller?
no subject
Those three minutes where he showers see her standing in the living room, zoning out with a shot in her hand, wondering when this day will blur into the others. They'll do this over and over, and though she will keep it to herself on most days, she will do whatever she needs to to be happy with it. It's what she has, her ambition and him and his broad shoulders and this shitty apartment, and it's a life, even if it takes daily moxie.
So Tess takes the shot, quick and burning, and then she's ready to move forward when she hears him come out. It will be an evening that will outshine the day in their memories, or else she'll go to bed miserable, too.
She crosses the floor back to the kitchen, breezing by him, just barely brushing him with her fingertips.
"Well," she says, a hand moving to the first cabinet door, turning so she's facing him, back to the counter. This is a little bit of a show now, the faintest smile on her face. "Behind door number one..."
She opens it to reveal... nothing but their well-worn dishware, three lone plates a two bowls occupying the whole space. She gives a little raise of her brows, oops, and moves to the next cabinet.
"Door number two..."
Three cans, one of beans, one of unlabelled god-knows-what, and one squat little tin of spam. A tragic but not as bad as it could be dinner for two grown adults. She pauses there, her hand on door number three, smiling, sly. Yes? Another cabinet? Are we feeling game, Mr. Miller?