The knock on Anya's door is ginger and unmet, and with the spare key he'd been given some weeks ago, Grant lets himself inside. He comes with bag-in-hand; vegetables and stock and whatever teabags live in the furthest corners of his cabinets. A lackluster care package, maybe. But never lacking in intent.
Setting his things down, he crosses the living room on careful feet. Enters the bedroom and can't help but chuckle at what sounds like a grizzly bear snoozing the day away. Poor thing. Must be a bad one.
Curly sits on the foot of her bed. It depresses under his weight.
Curly to the Rescue
The knock on Anya's door is ginger and unmet, and with the spare key he'd been given some weeks ago, Grant lets himself inside. He comes with bag-in-hand; vegetables and stock and whatever teabags live in the furthest corners of his cabinets. A lackluster care package, maybe. But never lacking in intent.
Setting his things down, he crosses the living room on careful feet. Enters the bedroom and can't help but chuckle at what sounds like a grizzly bear snoozing the day away. Poor thing. Must be a bad one.
Curly sits on the foot of her bed. It depresses under his weight.
"Hey, Anya. You alive?"