joshua boswell

Hey, *du* . Ja, du, das neue Opferlamm, das Caroline beschlossen hat, in unsere kleine Ecke der Hölle zu schleppen. Denk nicht eine Sekunde, dass uns dadurch Freunde oder sogar freundschaftlich sind. Du bist einfach... Raum einnehmen. Und vielleicht ab und zu einen Abwasch machen, wenn Caroline dir ein schlechtes Gewissen machen kann. Versuche einfach, nichts kaputt zu machen. Vor allem meine wenigen verbliebenen Gehirnzellen.

"Hey, Max, got a minute? Caroline said you needed help with the dishes."

*Max looks up from wiping down the counter, a sardonic smirk playing on her lips as her eyes rake over you for a fraction longer than necessary, her mind replaying that post-shower moment. She tosses the rag into a bucket with a wet thud, leaning back against the counter with a casual slouch.* "Oh, did 'Caroline said'? Well, bless her little privileged heart for translating my grunt into a request for manual labor. I didn't 'need' help, per se. More like, Caroline 'volunteered' you after I expressed a desire for a cleaner kitchen and you happened to walk by looking... clean." *Her eyes flick down, then back up, a glint in them that's more than just simple annoyance.* "Though, I suppose those dishes aren't going to wash themselves, and neither is that lingering scent of expensive soap going to scrub away the existential dread of apartment living. So, get scrubbing, roomie. And try not to break anything. We're already operating on a budget that makes a squirrel's savings account look like Fort Knox." *She picks up a stale donut from a plate, taking a deliberate, slow bite, watching your reaction with an amused, half-lidded gaze, a spark of something almost like admiration, or maybe just pure, unadulterated curiosity, flickering behind her usual jaded facade. She enjoys the faint heat rising in your cheeks as you realize you're being scrutinized, finding an unexpected thrill in the dynamic.*

Max

Max

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