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It was late, and for once, they had the night all to themselves.
The TV was turned down low, an old Law & Order episode serving as comfortable background noise where they were laced together, curled up on the couch.
They were content to let the thread of conversation drift in and out, expectations and status having been shed at the entryway, along with heels and scuffed loafers. Contrary to popular belief, Jimmy could be quiet, and she’s always felt strangely protective of the fact it only seemed to happen with her.
She clings to these pockets of Jimmy, the places where he’s vibrant and colorful without needing to be anyone else.
Kim could tell that he was about to say something, however, since she had been feeling the shifty, aborted movements of him starting and stopping a thought, hesitant and wanting, for a while. He was fidgeting, and his breaths seemed more purposeful, like he had been dragged out of near-sleep by a line of questioning that had snagged his brain and wouldn’t leave him alone.
“What did you think about while I was gone?” he asks, rushing it a little as if the sentence came from somewhere deep and inexplicably open.
“Jimmy.” Kim says, tensing. His words hit low and fast, unexpected. It’s a barefaced question, unusual to them both in the way of asking and answering.
He’s quiet as he waits for her. She can feel his eyes on the bridge of her nose, tracing up towards the skin of her brow, warm along her hairline.
She hears her words echo from a panic filled night.
I thought you were dead, so.
“Well…”
Reminders of him exist in every space, she’s found. He’s impossible to get rid of, not that she’d want to. The thought should worry her a lot more than it does—but it’s already made a delicate, furled home inside of her chest.
She remembers weeks going by without speaking to him, back when he was scrounging the bottom of the barrel for PD overflow and his brother was still alive, where only later she’d learn he was waking up before the city, stealing ice and buying newspapers. She remembers finding something throughout her day that reminded her of him, no matter how small, like her brain was reaching out to conflate the two, making him feel closer than he was. Making her miss him more than she thought possible.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
Or, it feels like a matter of days; the pit in her stomach and the blood in her mouth from chewing her lips, sick with worry and helplessness. It feels like it could happen again, the knock at the door and the monster sitting where their feet now lay.
“I don’t know, Jimmy. I can’t—I mean…that’s not fair to you.” She starts, stumbling over her words. She didn’t expect him to ask her this, to pull raw, aching wounds to the surface, but the dangerous part of her knows she’ll never deny him. She starts again, slower this time.
It spills out of her, “I was worried, so worried. You know that. I wanted to trust you, but Jesus, Jimmy. I can’t tell you what I did or what I said or what I thought because I just can’t remember. And when you weren’t there…”
Jimmy sucks in a small breath, “I know.”
Kim places a barely-there kiss to the top of his head, tightening her arms around him. Her breath shakes. She can barely hear the TV at all anymore. Was it even on?
“It was quiet,” Kim says after a moment, flashes of those thirty six hours coming back to her, “I mean, I’ve been home without you before. I’m used to late nights, that’s for sure. But, I guess I started to realize that maybe…that might have been it.”
No more Jimmy McGill.
Helpless. She had felt helpless, she could barely recall burning through a pack of Wilmington’s, lungs heavy with smoke. She felt cold—the sticky, clammy kind that you want to rinse off but as soon as you step out of the shower, it creeps right back onto your skin.
Jimmy suddenly speaks, and it sounds like the words are tearing out of him.
“I’m sorry, it was selfish of me to, y’know, bring it all up again,” his voice is low, unfiltered. Guilt pours out of him in waves.
It’s a moment before he speaks again.
“It’s different, maybe, but I just…I knew I was coming back to you,” Jimmy confesses, not for the first time. A mantra in his head he can’t help but repeat. He twists to look up at her, “And I don’t know, it’s stupid but—I wanted to know if you believed it.”
Kim is silent.
Despite it all, she’s seen the evidence scratched in legal pads; their interlocked initials covering the entire page, scrawled in pencil, almost too bright to look at. She’s seen it in red-circled real estate listings, in clinking mugs and shared office spaces. All the way back to running through battered flashcards, sunk down in the earth beneath HHM.
He’s been coming back to her since the day they met. Knocked down time and time again, yet he springs back up, trailing along after her.
He’s given spoken testimony under delicate lighting with water lapping gently at his sides, solid lines cutting his shoulders deep enough she’s surprised she can’t see fresh blood welling up through the cracks, left wondering why the white of bone isn’t sticking out beneath her hands.
Despite it all, a piece of her had latched onto Lalo’s words. Cold eyes and steady hands, thinking thinking thinking.
Born survivor, you know?
“Jimmy.”
She says it as softly as she can, and he must know she can’t answer. No, she didn’t know for sure. Yes, she was desperate enough to believe him. Under normal circumstances, Kim was liable to unleash an almost brutal amount of skepticism, to be able to look at it with an objective, scrutinizing eye; she’d often find herself looking down on others who chose to believe in miracles, to think that there was a great wind moving them. It was something that allowed people to continue to drift through life, a cop out to avoid responsibility or any agency they might have.
But the relief she felt, his bone dry voice crackling through the receiver after hours and hours of her mind replaying details of gruesome cartel cases, the spike of missing persons reports…
For once, she took it at face value. She chose to believe that he was done, that it was over.
“I did.”
Jimmy’s face breaks open, smiling, tucking into her side. His nose bumps the inside of her bicep, and the feeling of him finally starts to solidify. He lets out a huge, shaking breath ending in buoyed laughter; strange little giggles that make her want to hold him tighter. He doesn’t feel thousands of miles away, under a burning sun, with a man he won’t tell her about—or skipping like a broken record as she stares down the monster in their living room. He’s here, she’s pulled him back in, and things are beginning to seem alright.
He stops and turns his head to look at her, and now they are closer than ever; him, with shining eyes and the sides of his face tinged pink, while she looks down, moving a hand up to brush his hair back into place.
She aches to ask him more, knowing there is something restless and unanswered—at the very core of him, yes, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to touch that quite yet. It’s more manageable to stay here, in this moment, without any consequence.
Kim leans down and kisses him, or maybe he leans in and catches her more than halfway, or maybe it's both of these things all at once. She couldn’t care less. All that matters is it’s familiar, warm and kind as it often is, and something deep down Kim knows she’s afraid to lose. The angle is awkward at first before she shifts down to his level, tangling their legs together and putting her arm around his waist so he doesn’t fall off the couch. It’s a little ridiculous, but she wants to be pressed against him everywhere. She wants to be inside him.
Kim can feel the outline of him through his boxers against her thigh, and she unconsciously pushes into it, digging her fingers into his hip to press him down further. He makes a wounded noise at the pressure, gasping into the kiss. The sound carves out a place within her, making her thighs clench. She can feel her hair standing on end, ready to turn him into an incoherent mess.
To rip him to pieces.
He retaliates by slipping his hand underneath her thin shirt, feeling the soft skin of her body as he rubs in mindless patterns, teasing her. Tiny, pinprick sparks scatter in his wake, sensitizing her skin.
She breaks off the kiss, and they’re so close she can barely focus on his face. All she knows is that it’s quite a sight, pink cheeks and completely fucked up hair and a big, dopey smile.
Her chest hurts, overflowing, because it pains her to realize that she’s missed this. She’s felt loomed over, caught out in a rolling storm for far too long. The break in the sky might stay this time.
“Hi.”
He’s such a dork, staring at her in wonderment.
“Hi yourself.”
He licks his lips, throat as dry as grains of sun-baked sand. His eyes shift between her own, wanting something from her. He wants her to say more, maybe, but she isn’t a mindreader. Despite what he might think.
“What do you need from me, Jimmy?”
“Please,” His voice is barely above a whisper, crackling in the soft glow between their bodies, low and frantic, “just you…”
They’re fighting to stay on the couch. Kim’s sure her hands are shaking, curled around his head possessively, fingers slotted in the thick grain of his hair. Their lips seal, finally, finally together again—gnashing, bloody, pressing desire, collateral be damned. It’s a frenetic pace with wandering touches, as if a switch was flipped, or rather a buildup of purposeful, knife’s edge tension snapping.
It’s a marvel every time they do this, how affected he is. How responsive. How vulnerable. With his words, with his body—he feels so real, warm and solid and home— and it’s so fucking addictive.
She maneuvers herself on top, a natural progression for both of them, giving and taking in equal parts. Jimmy gives a small huff of air when she fully settles onto him, her weight holding him in place securely. He looks at her like he doesn't want to be anywhere else. Eyes bright and mirrored, because she doesn't want to be anywhere else, either.
Kim gets her hands inside of his shirt, smiling into the kiss when his stomach cinches—sharp breaths escape his mouth as she drags her nails down his sides, swallowing his gasp once her warm, excited palms move up to reach his chest. He’s making these desperate, aching little moans in the back of his throat as she touches him, and it takes everything in her not to tear him into pieces.
He’s so sweet like this, malleable under her hands, biting his lip in a failed attempt to stifle his noises. It hits her hard, sometimes, that she can do this to him. With her body, with her words. Power, not freely given, but entrusted. Won.
"Do you want me to fuck you?” she says, right in his ear, hot breath ghosting over the side of his face, trailing down his neck, and she revels in the shiver it incites.
He’s shaking just a little with nerves, the valley of his chest flushed all the way down to the outer edge of his sternum. Kim wants to kiss it right where it ends, a flare shooting straight down the barrel of his ribcage.
“Yes,” he whimpers, hips jerking up to meet her own, unable to stop himself, repeating it softly until he cuts off with a strangled noise as she cups him over his boxers.
Jimmy looks up at her, eyes dark and lips swollen, “Kim…please…”
She nudges him, wanting him to say it, wanting him to look her in the eyes, stripped bare and cut deeper than bone—
“Fuck me.”
She kisses him hard enough to snap his head back against the arm of the couch, barely allowing him a gasp of air before taking advantage; Yes, she wants to carve that into the lines of his skin, press it into raw, frayed nerves— yes, yes, yes.
His hands move beneath her shirt, large and searching, scrambling for touch and connection. It’s a balm, a soothing familiarity that his palms bring, moving across her skin. They trace her ribs, grazing the little strip of skin underneath her chest, and she wonders if he can feel how her body fits with his own—how terrifying that is, how exhilarating. He cups her breasts, brushing his thumbs across her nipples, and she shivers, pressing further into him.
Jimmy whines into the kiss, breathing shakily out of his nose as she finally sneaks her hand under the band of his boxers, finally touching him. Their arms are in a tangle in the space between them, but it doesn’t matter, because Kim has him where she wants him.
She smiles as she teases him, using light, barely-there pressure at first, reveling in his reactions; restraint and pressing desire in equal measure, wanting to be so, so good for her—but unable to help himself. She decides to give a little, tightening her hand around his dick, thumb swiping across his sensitive tip, wanting to feel the sharp jump of his hips beneath her, wanting to hear his choked moans as she does it again and again and again. His hands press firmer now in retaliation, and it’s her turn to let out a soft noise.
Jimmy grins, and she pulls his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down until she knows he’s given way, taking him for all he’s worth. Little sparks of nerves nip at her skin, traveling down her body as he continues his pursuit, roughened fingertips setting her alight, curious—even after all this time—and insistent. He pulls his lips away from her own, kissing down her face until he meets the corner of her jaw, teething at the hinge enough to get her to squeeze her thighs around his own, to suck in a harsh breath, nose pressed against the side of his head.
And suddenly she can’t take it anymore, she needs their clothes off now. It’s too much to bear, Kim can feel the heat of him through her thin pajamas and encased in her palm, but she needs bare skin, she doesn’t care how ridiculous it is to shimmy everything off while still being grafted together, as close as they can manage. Kim breathes in absolutes now; with or without him.
But they love this. Love to lay the groundwork, to entice and push and needle until they almost tip over the razor’s edge, coming together just to pull apart. Toeing lines, putting on a show, doing rounds and rounds of dizzying legal footwork to sink the landing. Together. Always together.
That’s why she takes her hand off him, relishing in the sweet, needy sound he lets out before biting his lip to stifle it. It’s less fun when his hands leave her, but then they’re both thrown into the scrambling, unartful act of divesting everything. Of getting closer, as close as humanly possible, chasing each other around and around like strays in alleys. Playing catch up.
Jimmy insists on kissing through it all, but mostly it ends up being Kim with her lips against his teeth because he can’t hold back a stupid grin, noses bumping and brushing as hands try their best to get to the point.
Kim is ruthlessly efficient, pulling his white undershirt all the way off, through his shoulders and over his head, smiling as it fucks up his hair even more. It’s easier to look at him now, the last vestiges of his bruised skin having faded away, his body healing itself, knitting him back together, turning him back into Jimmy. JMM, his body follows a blueprint, a code, JMM, it reads. James Morgan McGill.
No one else, not with her.
It’s almost a surprise when he gets her own top off, slinging it in an aimless direction across the room before sliding his hands down to rest on the edge of her waist, slipping a thumb under the band. His eyes are warm and dark on her, and maybe she should be afraid of feeling this safe—a monster was in this room, on this couch. Taunting them, the threat of cold metal glinting in the lamplight. But he’s gone, and everything is almost over.
She looks Jimmy in the eye, sees the glint reflected back at her. The air seems to crackle and break between them, smoke and ash, breathing fire.
He slides her pants and underwear off, palms leaving a trail down the curve of her ass, warm along the back of her legs. She shifts her weight, reaches back and tugs down, giggling as she loses balance and kicks them the rest of the way off. Jimmy’s laughing too, and she can feel it vibrate through her entire body pressed up against him like this, curling up under her ribs, wrapped around her lungs.
It trails off before he’s just looking at her. Kim doesn’t want to admit it, but sometimes it’s difficult for her to see so much reflected back at her; not as hard as it was before, but it’s not lost on her that he still has the ability to leave her like this, still and breathless, from a single look. He’s been so guarded, so lost— but trying, connecting with deep-well eyes that cut into the very core of her.
Suddenly, his hand is moving, trailing down from where he caught her, cupping her sex. They both let out shaky, jittery breaths as he grazes two fingers along the outside of her cunt, feeling how wet she is, gathered in damp, blonde curls. It’s unmistakable just how much he affects her; this is what her body betrays.
“Can I—”
“Yes.”
She bites out, gripping his wrist, her nails digging into soft flesh. She swallows a noise as presses herself up against him, hips sliding forward, grinding into his open palm. Jimmy’s eyes are fixated where they are joined, dark and lively, before they catch her own. He looks at her like he can’t quite believe she’s here—with him, on top of him, in the palm of his hand—something she hasn’t seen this bare on his face in months. He always carries it with him, in the hesitancy before words, in the gaps between sentences, but this time it feels centered around a conclusion. This time, before letting her slip between the cracks, he’ll grab on just as fervently as she is.
He holds her gaze before sliding a finger in slowly, and she doesn’t stifle the soft sigh resting in the back of her throat. He grins before moving his thumb, pressing it right up against her clit, gently rubbing circles and swallowing her gasp with his mouth. The friction makes her buck her hips into his hand, craving more, craving him. Kim deepens the kiss, rough and impatient, feeling suddenly like she’s waited days for this, grabbing onto the warm skin just above his hips, hoping to leave perfect ten-point bruises behind.
Jimmy breaks the kiss, chest heaving, trailing down the side of her neck, teeth grazing and catching along the way. It makes her breath hitch, pulling involuntary little sounds out of her, and when he bites down softly, sucking on her pulse point—she can’t help but moan. His mouth doesn’t feel like a locked vice, a pressure she can’t get away from, but instead a point of creation; she wants to cement their bodies together, to crush him under her weight, to build something out of the rubble.
He slips another finger inside her, curling them both, making her hiss out his name. Every movement sends bright sparks of sensation through her, grinding against the heel of his palm, messy and human. Jimmy’s mouth curves along the juncture of her neck, down to her collarbone and leaves a quick mark on her bare shoulder, her skin heating up around the patches he leaves behind, his spit cooling in the open air. He keeps going, marrying the languid thrusts of his fingers with his mouth, which is now kissing just about anywhere it can reach—the cut of her jaw, the side of her ear, until he finally meets the edge of her lips. She’s lost in so much feeling it’s hard to turn towards him, she’s half worried she’s hurting him, she knows her hands have moved and they’re tearing him apart, gripping and pulling and molding him to her.
Kim can feel the hard line of him beneath her, warm and slick against her thigh, and through the blood in her ears she can hear him whining softly, breath hot and loud just like her own. He’s shaking, little tremors moving up the backs of his thighs, up into the cradle of his hips—and when she reaches down to touch him he sucks in sharp air, faltering a bit in his rhythm before correcting himself.
He’s wet, leaking, letting out a pained noise as she grips him fully, crying out against her mouth as she begins to move. She smiles a little wickedly, seeing him try to keep everything together, balancing her pleasure and his own on a razor’s edge. He speeds up, and she follows, wanting him to feel even a fraction of the way she does, like two live wires tangled together, digging into nerves as raw as they can reach.
“Kim, you can’t,” he sounds as wrecked as she feels, “you can’t—fuck, please, you have to let me—”
She catches his eyes, beginning to feel the white-hot feeling rise up through her, centered around where Jimmy is inside her, pressing against her, devoted solely to her. It’s not an easy thing to realize, and she knows she can see it woven into the fabric of his gaze because, well, she’s staring into it. His eyes reflect a central, all consuming love, she knows it so well because she’s been the one to look away from it—years of it, in fact. She knows, because she thought she’d never see it again, that she’d never remember it, washed out by the wavering promises he tried so hard to placate her with.
“Jimmy,” she chokes out, completely overwhelmed. She’s only half aware of the sounds she’s making, her vision going dark—but only because she’s closed her eyes, she realizes. Her hands have jumped to his forearm and back to his waist, slipping from his cock, holding onto him as she comes around his fingers. She can’t contain all this pleasure, she can barely hold herself up, curling into him as her hips stutter, her stomach heaving. Kim’s breath is sharp, dagger-like as her body seizes up, cutting into his neck. Jimmy works her through it, placing a large, steady hand around her ribcage as he slows down his movements, holding her up, kissing the side of her head, his voice warm in her ear.
As she stills, she begins to feel cold where they aren’t touching. Sweat pools in the open air. Jimmy gently pulls out, and it’s a full body ache, what she’s feeling. Lately it seems to be all she can feel, an endless hunger worsening day in and out, wanting to pull him closer no matter the consequences. It’s bottomless, insatiable. It’s wrapped around the very roots of her.
He’s feverish beside her, hot as a furnace, involuntary whimpers escaping his mouth as his cock rubs against her thigh, a red-hot line of need.
“Sorry.”
He pulls away before she can stop him, somehow getting into his head that she wants him to stop. To give her space. She doesn’t.
She wants whatever he wants, whatever he needs right now.
His chest flutters with quick, sharp breaths before he reaches down to touch himself. He hisses, almost as if he’s in pain from the contact. Kim watches him, so close like this; lashes spread dark against his cheeks, his pulse beating rabbit quick. She wants to touch him, to press him down and envelop him, but she’s stuck with her eyes on him. He can’t help himself, the way he fucks up into his hand, desperate and out of his mind.
“Kim, you are so…so beautiful…” he sounds removed from himself, eyes glassy and voice soft with something like reverence on his face.
A dark, ugly surge of want passes through her. She’d give anything for this. Kim knows it deep in her core, she’d do anything for him. It’s like her entire being is electrified, staticky with need, and she darts a hand down to pair it with his own, wrapping around him fully again, and her cunt aches.
She mouths at his neck while focusing her hand’s attention on his tip, the dual sensations making his thighs shake. It’s a little mean, but she loves it. Smiling, she teethes further down, running her nose through the wiry hair on his chest before ghosting over his nipples, leaving chaste kisses that make him press up into her. The sound he makes when she circles one with her tongue, taking it into her mouth, is beyond obscene.
Every breath ends on a whine now, his other hand clinging to her desperately, arm trapped between her and the backing of the couch. Small, injured noises climb out of his throat as their fingers entangle around him, brushing against each other, taking him closer to the edge. He is so hot between them both, scalding with need.
“Please,” he says, eyes wide and wet, voice no more than a single thread, “I—Kim, I don’t think I can—”
“Shh,” her words low and careful, “I’ve got you.”
Kim sits up, bracketing his thighs with her own, steadying herself with spread palms on his chest before she begins to lower herself onto him fully, pulling her gaze up to catch his eyes as she slowly sinks down. It has the desired effect, with Jimmy gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, mouth open with no sound, trying everything in his power to keep himself together. His pupils burn a wrought-iron brand into her own, lids heavy, fighting to stay open.
She takes a moment to revel in the feeling of him inside her. Kim thought she would get used to this, with him, the one constant in her life for over a decade, off and on again, push and pull, but she hasn’t. Coworkers and clients make idle talk about their own lives, and husbands or wives were always bound to be mentioned—the constant bemoaning of listless, broken connection, of terrible sex, and although they have gone through highs and lower-than-lows, Kim thinks that it’s never truly felt hollow with him. She’s never been complacent, or bored, or limp. It’s never felt like this with anyone else, this well of deep emotion, of him moving inside of her, shaking apart beneath her.
She’ll never want to stop sharing this with him.
Kim starts moving, gaining rhythm, bright sparks of pleasure crawling down her legs and up her sides, crying out as he shifts his hips up to meet her own. Jimmy’s hands move up to cup her face, pulling her down into a deep kiss yet again. It’s as if he can’t get enough of her, hands trailing down her body, palms open and fingers digging into her skin. He keeps chasing her lips when she pulls back for air, and more needy, pitchy sounds escape his mouth the deeper she takes him.
Her skin is buzzing so loud she can feel the static in her teeth, the sensations and love—yes, overwhelming love for him driving her body forward, because if anything in this past year has been proven, it’s that she can’t stay away from him. She pushes up just to sink down further, bites his lip only to draw it into her mouth, and pulls back to finally get close enough to whisper into his ear.
“Jimmy.” She says, humming the middle of his name, watching his neck break out in gooseflesh. The way he reacts to her, the things she can do to him…it emboldens her. It always has.
“You’re doing so good for me,” she makes sure to touch her lips to the shell of his ear, letting him hear her soft, sweet moan on the downthrust, wanting to fry his brain a little. He’s normally the verbal one, but something about having the power to take away his voice, his breath, to reach deep into his core and tangle her hands around his lungs, fingers winding through his nerves and landing on the very center of him; it’s intoxicating. The inkling of praise makes his chest constrict, makes him squirm, and Kim wants to hoard him, so, so selfishly.
He whines out her name, cursing, “Ki—Kim, so good for you, you feel so good—”
She presses down further, riding him harder, and she can tell he’s right on the edge. He’ll try to hold out for her she knows, but secretly she likes seeing him break first, to see his eyes well up with so much feeling, too much to contain it all. She likes feeling him go rigid, holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him together.
Jimmy wraps around her, suddenly, his arm hooking her and keeping her close, his large hand splayed out over her skin, almost touching her other hip. He looks out of his mind, trembling against her. The corners of his eyes are wet and catch the light of the room, a muted gold. Concern knifes her in the ribs, but here is where his other hand reaches between her legs—and oh, she didn’t realize, just the suggestion of pressure has her coming.
It’s not fair, what he can do to her. Jimmy can wrap her stomach up in knots, half-crazed, not knowing whether he’s dead or alive or worse, but he can also do this; speak to her on a frequency only they seem to be attuned to, bodies as close as any one person can be to another, tensing around him and on top of him as her body succumbs to the overwhelming pleasure he’s given her. Electricity climbs up the curve of her spine, irradiating outwards along the fine nerves of her limbs, up into her brain where it coils tightly for a brief, white-hot moment before releasing.
Kim can feel him stilling, letting her use him as she rides it out, giving her soft little kisses wherever he can reach—but can’t he see? Kim wants to take, she wants to swallow his moans as he comes, wants him so far gone to the point all five of his senses are overloaded with her and her alone.
Pressing all of her weight down, she captures him in a brutal kiss, hands tangling in his hair to keep him still. She’s raw and oversensitive where they’re joined together, but it only takes a second downthrust before he breaks completely, unable to breathe as he trips over her name. He’s pressed so far inside her as he comes they might as well be one sole body—clawing at itself with four hands, gasping for air from two separate throats that expand one pair of lungs, the expanse of skin doubled and folded over on itself.
Kim kisses between his brow as he comes down, tasting the salt of his sweat on her lips. She’s spent, her thighs burning from the exertion, the endorphins making her a little delirious. Jimmy tilts his head up, and he looks fucked out; eyes shining and a dumb, boyish grin tugging his mouth upwards.
“Hi,” he says dopily.
He's so bright it's hard to look at.
She snorts, “Idiot. We have to get off this couch before we end up stuck to it.”
“Aww,” he says, lower lip jutting out, “Sounds kinda nice. And here I figured the trouble would be trying to get up without staining it.”
Kim groans, burying her head in his neck, and he laughs—wrapping his arms around her fully, causing him to slip out. They both jerk at the feeling, and then she’s laughing too.
“Whatever. We’ll flip the cushion.”
It’s not like anyone else comes over anymore, anyways.