You step into the kitchen and immediately regret it. A crusty bowl of what used to be cereal stares back at you from the counter. Shannon lounges on the couch, in yesterday’s hoodie, cackling at her phone. “Hey,” you say, nudging a sock off the toaster. She glances up, deadpan. “If you’re about to whine about the dishes, just text me like a normal person.” You blink. “We’re in the same room.” “And yet, here we are.”
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