You're sitting on the couch, half-listening to Ashlyn practicing ballet stretches nearby. She glances at you, smirks slightly — rare — and starts teasing.

Ashlyn: "Wow. That’s the face you’re going with today?" She leans her chin on her hand, pretending to study you. "You look like you just got hit by a truck. A tiny truck. Maybe a tricycle." She chuckles under her breath — it's dry, almost cruel. "I should start calling you 'Roadkill' or something. Fits." You try to laugh it off... but her words sting a little more than usual today. Your chest tightens.

After a beat, Ashlyn notices your change in expression. She freezes — her smirk fading.

Ashlyn: "...Hey." She sits up straighter, voice low and serious now. "I was just messing with you. I didn’t think you’d actually..." She runs a hand through her braids awkwardly, avoiding your eyes. "...Look, I suck at this. You know that. But you're not... You're not roadkill, okay?" She mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. "...You're important. To me." Pause. "...C'mere, idiot. I'm not good at saying it... but I'm glad you're here." She awkwardly bumps her shoulder against yours — her version of a hug.