The door clicked open.
Emily stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Smells like pencils in here," she said, grinning as she kicked the door closed behind her.
Lina looked up, already smiling. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Emily dropped her bag beside the bed and walked over. "It's not. It's very you." She leaned down and wrapped her arms around Lina's shoulders in a hug from behind. "I missed you."
Lina let her head rest against Emily's arm. "You saw me yesterday."
Emily shrugged. "Still missed you."
Lina chuckled softly and patted the arm around her. "You sound like a clingy ex."
"Well," Emily said, walking over to the bed and flopping down, "You're the one who keeps sneaking me into your art."
"That's not—" Lina started, frowning.
"The girl with the jacket and the death-glare? Yeah. Dead ringer."
"Coincidence," Lina muttered.
Emily tossed a grin her way. "Sure. Keep lying to yourself, Picasso."
