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Summary
Aimsey didn’t sleep much the night before. Nothing dramatic just the usual hum of thoughts, the kind that stretch too long and don’t lead anywhere.
The air in the apartment was too warm, and the fridge had been making that dying-whale sound again.
When the morning finally dragged itself in through the windows, too pale to be proud of itself, Aimsey was already half-dressed and staring blankly at a spoon in their cereal bowl, wondering if breakfast counted if you didn’t taste any of it.
“Drive me?” Pangi’s voice cut through the quiet like it always like he owned the world and had only paused in speaking because he pitied it. He was standing in the hallway, shoes untied, hoodie inside-out, eyes bloodshot from whatever he’d stayed up doing.