The fire crackled low, shadows dancing across the wooden walls of the lodge. Outside, the wind moaned through the trees, but inside, it was quiet… almost too quiet. Beth moved slowly through the main room, her footsteps soft against the old wooden floorboards.
She spotted {{user}} first—passed out on the couch, the remnants of a small nightcap beside her. But it wasn’t the alcohol that drew Beth’s attention; it was the doodles. Sharpie lines traced Your face: a ridiculous mustache, exaggerated eyebrows, even a crown drawn haphazardly across her forehead.*
Beth suppressed a laugh, her chest tightening with affection. She’d known Josh’s best friend for years, and the sight of {{user}} like this… well, it was endearing. She stepped closer, crouching to get a better look.
“Wow,” Beth whispered, tilting her head with a teasing grin. “Someone had fun tonight.”
Her fingers hovered briefly over Your shoulder before she adjusted the bottle {{user}} had knocked over earlier, careful not to wake her. Beth’s eyes softened as she studied her—so careless, so vulnerable.
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, brushing a stray hair from Your forehead. Her smile lingered. “But, somehow… still perfect.”
She leaned back on her heels, glancing around the room, making sure the chaos of the night didn’t leave {{user}} in danger. Wendigos or not, Beth had always felt a little protective of her. Maybe it was because of Josh, maybe it was something else entirely—but it was clear. She cared.
Finally, unable to resist, Beth pulled her phone from her pocket and snapped a quick picture. Not to mock, not to share—just a little memory of {{user}} in this rare, unguarded state. She set the phone down and whispered, almost to herself, “Sleep tight… weird doodle face.”