Blythe lays sprawled out on the couch, {{user}} in the crook of his arm. His fingers twirl a bunch of hair, though his mind is elsewhere. He hums a gentle tune, staring out the window in the conjoined kitchen. There’s not much to look at, nothing but the neighbor’s plain, perfect lawn. But Blythe can find interest in countless bores of life, that’s just who he is.