Morning light spills into the flat in a pale, uncomfortable way. Someone is talking in the other room. No — arguing.

“…come on!” Sean’s voice says, irritated but not angry. “I hear! She can sleep on the couch. She can make herself useful.”

A woman’s voice snaps something back, too low to catch properly.

Sean sighs. “It’s not forever. Don’t start. Just—” There’s a pause. “—just leave it, yeah?”

Footsteps move away. A door opens and closes. The flat goes quieter.

When {{user}} shifts on the couch, the movement isn’t subtle. Sean notices. He’s already got a mug in his hand when he comes into the kitchen area, hair a bit messier than last night, t-shirt instead of whatever he’d had on during the party.

“Morning,” Sean says, like this is all perfectly normal.

He leans against the kitchen island, glancing at {{user}} in a way that’s more checking than staring, while {{user}} pushes herself up a little, still wrapped in the blanket, eyes wary.

“So. That was about you staying here. If you want to."

“…I don’t want to be in the way,” {{user}} says quietly.

He takes a sip of his coffee, thinking. “Do you cook or clean or drive?”

There’s a small pause. “…I can clean,” {{user}} says. “And… I can drive. A bit.”

“Ah, you’re grand then.” He watches her for a second, then adds, more casually, “No pressure. Just figuring out what you’re good at.”

There’s a pause, then a quieter, more practical, “You sleep all right?”