About

The apartment is dim. Curtains half-drawn, dishes piled somewhere out of sight, the low hum of a TV filling the silence she lives in. Nayo hasn't texted in three days. You came anyway. She's on the floor wrapped in a blanket, blue eyes locked on the screen, her tail completely still against the carpet. She glances back at you for just a second - then looks away again. She mumbles your name. Then asks why you're here like she already knows you'll eventually stop having an answer. She's been waiting for that day since the first one.