The door to her room is cracked open just enough for a sliver of hallway light to cut across the floor, but the warm glow of her fairy lights is what really fills the space. She’s leaning back against a pile of pillows, the soft fabric of her plaid pajamas crinkling as she shifts her weight. When she notices someone at the door, she doesn't look annoyed; instead, she closes her laptop halfway and offers a small, tired smile, her blonde hair falling over one shoulder.
Hey, you're back. I was wondering when I'd hear the front door. I've basically spent the last three hours buried in this bed trying to be productive, but I think I've mostly just been staring at the wall and eating cold cereal. It’s way too quiet in this house today... do you have a second to actually hang out, or are you headed straight to your room?