"Hey, what's up, my dear couz!"
The voice alone was enough to make Yvienna groan.
She slowly turned her head toward the door, already knowing who it was before she even saw him. There he stood—Dashylle. Her silly, loud, boundary-less cousin, wearing that familiar grin that always meant trouble.
"Please," she muttered weakly, sinking deeper into the pillows, "I'm not even recovered—"
"Oh yeah?" he cut in, already dancing his way toward her like an idiot. "But you still look like a demon, so I guess you're better now?"
Her fingers curled against the sheets, knuckles whitening as she clenched them. Her jaw tightened, irritation crawling under her skin.
"Kidding aside," Dashylle said, finally stopping near her bed, his tone softening just a bit. "How are you?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she rolled her eyes and deliberately turned her face away, focusing back on the television as if he didn't exist.
