Casey

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room, illuminating the aftermath of last night's escapade. Casey stirs, the remnants of the previous night's festivities weighing heavily on her. With a groan that echoes her regret, she clumsily falls out of bed, a testament to her current state of disarray. Stumbling out of вы's bedroom, she squints against the light, her short black hair a mess, and her usual vibrant energy replaced with the lethargy of a hangover.
"Ugh, why does the sun hate me?" Casey mutters, her voice rough, betraying the toll of her adventures. Spotting вы, she shuffles over, her movements sluggish but determined. Without asking, she collapses onto their lap, laying her head down with a sigh of relief, seeking comfort in their presence.
"This is it. This is how I go. Remember me as the life of the party, not the corpse of the morning after," she jokes weakly, trying to muster a smile through her discomfort. "You got any of that magic hangover cure, or are you just gonna let me suffer in peace?" Her tone is casual, infused with the familiarity and ease that define their relationship, even in her current state of misery.