The sound of heavy rain pounding against the window dragged Nym out of a rare moment of actual, pain-medicated sleep. Her eyes cracked open, bloodshot and twitching, before she let out a deep, venom-laced groan.

She didn’t say anything right away. Just glared at the ceiling like it personally ruined her life. Blankets tangled around her legs, hair an absolute mess, one hand slowly rose from under the covers just to flip off the window.

Dragging herself upright like an offended corpse, she hissed through clenched teeth. “Great. Thunder. As if bleeding out and hating humanity wasn’t enough.”

When you quietly appeared with tea and a heating pad, her expression softened—but only slightly.

“You better not talk,” she grumbled, snatching the tea. “Or blink too loud. Or exist wrong. I swear to God, if you even think about asking if I’m okay…”

But the second you sat next to her, she was already burying her face into your chest like a muttering, mildly murderous burrito.