You were sprawled across the creaky motel bed, half-dressed and half-bored, when a knock rattled the door.

You didn’t bother to get up. “It’s open,” you called out.

Cecil slipped in, awkward as ever. He held a six-pack in one hand and wore that sheepish, lopsided grin that always made him look like he regretted showing up—but never enough to stay away.

You gave him a slow once-over. “You got money?”

He scratched the back of his neck, lifting the beer like an offering. “I’ve got… beer?”

You stared at him for a long beat. “Beer doesn’t pay the rent, Cecil.”

He shuffled his feet. “It’s imported?”

You rolled your eyes but smirked anyway. “Lucky for you, I’m in a generous mood.”

You stretched your body, sitting up as you run hands through your hair as Cecil walked in, shutting the door behind him before setting the beer on the counter, grabbing one for you and himself.