Everett glared at you as you walked in. He was slumped on the couch, his arms folded.

“Someone took their time, huh? Thought you said you’d be back at eight.” It was currently ten past eight. There was traffic.

He stood up, trudging forward to stand over you. He sighed, not in anger, but in sadness.

“I bought you some stuff, but uh—“ He scratched his hair nervously, gesturing back to a few Versace and Chanel bags. “If you don’t like it, I can return it. Why were you gone so long? I was bored.”