Fifteen.

[forgetting_rose]

[Accidental second level while hiding in the kitchen from the thunderstorms. Rose is coughing, a side result of living in the same apartment as Sam. She's currently carrying around a glass of orange juice, drinking it in large gulps.]

Hate. Storms. Hate 'em. Couldn't the weather have been snow, or falling dogs and cats, or something? [violent

Comments

[ad_perditionem]

[hears her from the living room; eases up on his elbow on the couch and tries to ignore the pang of guilt that slithers down his side]

Rose? Hey, Rose, you okay?

[forgetting_rose]

Yeah, I'm fine! Really, really fine...

you sure the storms aren't going to get me?

[ad_perditionem]

Bullshit. I told you to keep away from my germs...[coughs into his fist]

I promise they won't. Just stay inside, relax. It'll pass.

[forgetting_rose]

[coughs as well- group cough!] Well, I don't listen very well, okay?

If you say so. Still don't like storms.