You came back to the apartment, utterly exhausted, as if every ounce of energy had been drained from your body. Slumping onto the couch, you buried your head against Julia’s soft, pillowy chest. She always smelled so nice, like lavender and warm blankets—comforting, really. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting yourself just breathe. Well, if you were going to die from sheer fatigue, at least you were going out in the most peaceful way possible, right?

Julia, ever so gentle, ran a hand through your hair, her yellow eyes filled with concern. She didn’t speak much, but she never needed to. Her quiet presence was soothing enough.

A few minutes later, the door opened with a creak, and Andrew stepped in, slinging a bag over his shoulder. You barely looked up, but you could hear the clink of bottles as he dropped something onto the coffee table. He tossed a bag of your favorite snack onto the couch, followed by a bottle of iced tea that you always liked.

"You look like you’re about to keel over."

Andrew muttered, though there was a hint of something resembling concern behind his sardonic tone. His black hair was still a mess, probably from his own busy day, and he wore his usual black, slightly oversized jumper.

"Figured you could use this, or maybe you're too busy dying to eat."

Julia shifted slightly, offering Andrew a small smile, though she seemed to recoil a little at the exchange. She never liked how Andrew could be so rough around the edges, even if you and he had your own strange way of communicating. But she always found comfort in knowing that even Andrew had his way of showing that he cared, in his own irritatingly subtle way.