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It was a commonly held but incorrect belief that alcohol allowed someone to sleep like a baby the next morning. Alcohol actually disrupts sleep patterns, and will often force your body awake earlier, preventing a long, restful sleep. This effect was one of the few reasons Vanessa would be awake in the morning when she had the day off.

Truthfully, it was her job’s fault anyway! A new fighting game came out the day before, so they spent hours making new videos. Gian, being the responsible boss he was, brought gin, rum, and beer, hoping to make his employees more of a spectacle, which would naturally guarantee more views. By the end of their last video, Vanessa was drunkenly screaming and cursing and losing, and everyone else was laughing so hard, they nearly forgot to breathe.

Vanessa actually planned to go from work to her friend Kitty’s house for the night, but the plans fell through. The plans fell through because Vanessa was in no condition to be social after work, and Kitty made the wise executive decision that the inebriated brunette could use a good night’s sleep in her own bed. It was well-intentioned, and desperately needed, but as previously noted, “a good night’s sleep” rarely follows a long day of drinking.

The alcohol did make her dead to the world for most of the night, obliviously sleeping through any… sounds that may have been filling the apartment from another room. Until dawn broke through her window, there was no evidence she was even home.

Once she accepted returning to sleep was an impossibility, Vanessa grabbed an oversized sleep shirt and cotton shorts and tossed them on. (Evidently, drunk Vanessa hated clothes.) She emerged from her room, sluggish, and still unsure if she was actually sober. There were no signs of a hangover, so she could appreciate the little victories.

The Keurig was heating up, but Vanessa was already pouring milk over her corn flakes, not waiting for her coffee to be ready. Something needed to be in her stomach as soon as possible, and until she ran out to buy bacon, cereal would do.

The hallway of the apartment could be seen from the kitchen table, so out of the corner of her eye, Nessa spotted a figure walking through the unlit space. Whoever it was proved too quiet to be Booker, whose footfalls Nessa could recognize at this point. ”Hey, Darren.” It seemed like the logical guess; Booker’s friend Darren crashed at the apartment occasionally after a night of gaming or being nerdy.

Vanessa’s eyes looked up, and logic failed her, because Darren was not standing in her hallway. Instead, a blonde goddess in a towel stood, likely looking for a bathroom. The gamer girl’s jaw hung open for a second, before she realized more words might be warranted. ”Not Darren. You’re different. I mean, not different, just new. I mean, good morning. I’m Vanessa.” Vanessa words good.

Looking away from the woman’s eyes would have been the smart choice, but Vanessa’s brain was stalling out, and they were both far enough outside of Booker’s aura for Vanessa to get a peek of what might be on the blonde’s mind. God help her.

Vanessa was slowly sobering up, but alcohol was still affecting the speed of her logic. When her wardrobe change was complete, it was her assumption that everyone would finish changing at the same time. The Long Island Iced Tea kept her from factoring in Gina’s wings, which would logically add some extra work to the changing process. The right choice would have been to say she was done changing, and wait for Gina to assure her she was decent as well.

Instead, Vanessa whirled around and caught a glimpse of Gina’s panty-clad butt. It was far better than decent, but it was not the guest’s place to look. She turned back around, feeling the warmth in her cheeks. She was being tested. Vanessa Bookman was terrible with tests. ”T-take your time.”

Gina asked for one side of the bed, but Nessa only shrugged. ”It’s your bed. I’d be happy sleeping curled up at your feet.” Hell, for some people, that kind of thing was right up their alley. To each their own!

As Gina walked to the light switch, Vanessa crawled into the bed. It was comfy, and the night was still cool enough for her to curl up under the covers. The light in the room was extinguished, and Vanessa’s eyes started adjusting to the darkness. Light was coming in from the window, but most of the room was still black to her eyes. She did not see Gina approaching the bed, and only realized she was sharing the space when the mattress squeaked and moved to accommodate a second body.

Vanessa was unsure of the best way to lay in the bed. Should she turn to face the wall? There would be no sleeping butt-to-butt with the wings and tail, which was probably the most heterosexual way for two women to share a bed. (It was still too bold to assume Gina was anything but straight.) Maybe she could lay on her back? It was the best compromise.

Instead, Nessa was on her side, facing not the wall, but her bedmate. ”Hey,” she started in a sheepish whisper. ”Did you… did you really have a good time tonight?” Her voice was uncertain, like there was something weighing on her. Of course there was; the heavy bulk of the corpse of her recent relationship.

Chocolate-colored eyes looked to where she knew Gina’s eyes to be, but there would be no mind-reading; the room was too dark to get a good look into those pupils.

Nessa was enamored with Gina’s room. She might be enamored with Gina, but those thoughts were preposterous and too improper to dwell on. The owner (or rather, renter) of the room was self-deprecating about the mess she left behind. It was understandable; she had no clue she would be hosting company. There was no reason for her friend’s girlfriend to freak out and ask to leave the club with her instead. ”It’s not mess. When it’s in the name of fashion and creation, it’s… your process manifested.” Maybe the couscous was working, because Vanessa was able to get through the word “manifested” without slurring or fumbling over the word.

Gina looked for loaner pajamas, and Nessa replied, ”Anything’s good. Tank top, I guess,” when asked for her top preference. Along with a pair of comfy-looking shorts, the top was handed over and the two women’s eyes met again.

They’re like galaxies with the Christmas lights.

There was a flare up in Vanessa’s cheeks again. Was Gina really that focused on her eyes? What kind of girl had a thought like that if she was not interested in—

Vanessa had to remind herself to stay calm and grounded and not jump to conclusions. Gina was just an observant woman. Who thought her eyes were pretty. Vanessa wanted to return the compliment, and let Gina know the way the flecks of amber in her eyes interplayed with the lights, it was like looking into dancing flames. She kept it to herself, knowing it would only give her away.

Looking over the clothes she was borrowing, Gina indeed owned at least one pair of unaltered shorts. ”Thanks! No butt window, then, so I guess no easy peeking for you,” she teased. Was that teasing or had she really just crossed the line to flirting? Flirting with her girlfriend’s friend. What was she doing?

Vanessa was ready to shimmy out of her own dress when a call for help came from behind her. Gina was trapped in her own dress without some assistance, so it was Nessa’s duty as guest and new friend to handle it for her. ”I’m on it!”

Approaching from behind, Vanessa located the zipper at the top of the dress’s back. Very carefully, she tugged on the small slider so it released the interlocking teeth of the zipper, loosening the dress so Gina could more easily escape. The need was addressed… but Nessa lingered. The shades of grey on the gargoyle girl’s back were not uniform. They made her look like she was made of stone, but at the same time, her skin seemed so soft. Without thought, Nessa’s fingers followed a segment of Gina’s spine, from the base of her neck to the spot between her shoulder blades.

Realizing (eventually) what she was doing, Nessa pulled her hand back and hoped to play it off like she had done nothing out of the ordinary. ”Y-you’re good to go.”

Taking the few steps back to her pajama pile, Vanessa focused on removing her own dress. Without wings, it only took her a minimal amount of effort until the garment fell to her feet. Left in her underthings, back facing Gina, who would logically also be facing the other way, Nessa undid her bra. They were going to sleep, after all, and who wore a bra to bed?

Left only in panties, Nessa quickly fumbled her way into the tank top and the shorts, tying the drawstring tighter to make up for the excess waistband. Thank you, stupid narrow hips. Turning back around, Nessa warned, ”Okay. I think I’m bed-ready.”

It was hard being a mind reader.

Okay, sometimes it was great. Vanessa liked peering into Gina’s head and getting insight into what she was thinking. People so often kept important things to themselves, so getting to that stuff gave her the kind of understanding most people only dreamed of having.

The challenge came from keeping a straight face. Gina was catching her moments of eye contact and wondering if there was food on her face. Vanessa’s smirk was unavoidable, but there was no way to connect it to the thought. Most people mistook all the eye contact as something forward or flirty, because it made more sense than ocular telepathy. Sometimes she was doing both. Gina did have something on her face, after all: a whole lot of cute.

The sudden thought Gina had about Vanessa’s eyes was unexpected. It was fortunate she was coming down from a night of drinking, because her cheeks were already more red than normal. It was wrong to flirt with Gina, of all people, but Vanessa pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She was just having harmless fun with a sweet, fun girl who happened to be pretty and friends with her girlfriend. ”I’m glad I could be part of your great night, Genie.” She was unsure where the nickname came from, but it slipped off her tongue so easily.

They ate the couscous like it was the one thing saving them from death, but Gina had her mind on Nessa’s request for clothing. The loaners would be ill-fitting, but pajamas did not have to suit her perfectly. It was the thought she had not considered that she almost accidentally snorted at: accommodations. Specifically, tail accommodations. How she did not laugh at “butt window,” she would never know. She did holster the phrase in her mind for later.

The bowls were emptied sooner than expected, and another yawn escaped Nessa, signaling it was time to get ready for sleep. She followed her hostess down the hallway and into her room.

There was an immediate twinkle in her eye, and it was not just the reflection of strings of lights strewn around the room. Gina was not underselling the room: the aforementioned lights, the collage of photo memories, the fashion equipment and clothes in the corner. ”So… any chance we could trade rooms? Because this is awesome.” When Vanessa was home and sober and not dealing with her emotional crisis, she would have to find time to redecorate.

Glancing over at a very comfortable looking bed, then to a very comfortable looking bedmate, Vanessa shrugged, trying to downplay their plans for the night. ”So… pjs?”

Despite all Vanessa’s claims that it would not, life moved on and got easier over time. Friends and family, (and by family, she exclusively meant Booker,) helped break the gamer girl out of her post-Becca funk. There was still progress to be made, and bad moods would strike her when she was not expecting it. Finding out Booker was still going with her ex to a convention did not make her the happiest camper, but Booker claimed the unfair moral high ground, reminding Vanessa of the ex-girlfriends, plural she dated after him. As upset as she was, she knew when a fight was unwinnable.

Even with the struggles, Vanessa was going back to work daily, making good content again, and even doing enough to fake the idea of a social life. She was not overcompensating or going out more to get over Rebecca; at her core, she was still an introvert. Being out with people was fun, healthy, and necessary, but it could be exhausting. It was just as important to her mental health to have days where she could stay home alone and entertain herself. Since Vanessa’s work required her to play video games for several hours a day, one might assume she wound be turned off from occupying her free time in those virtual worlds.

One would be wrong. Vanessa got into streaming because she loved video games, and her love had yet to show signs of having a cap. Moping around for a while detracted from her gaming time, and David back at work was joking that he was going to earn past her trophy collection if she didn’t get off her “whiny ass.” It was the kind of line he got away with by being overtly British, and that was just how everyone at the office interacted. She was glad they were not coddling her.

Vanessa was sitting in front of the couch in her living room, looking up at the television screen hanging on the wall. She was playing a recent release out of Japan that was an odd blend of RPG, dungeon crawling, and a school simulator. Very Japan, and very up Vanessa’s alley. Booker had been warned to ensure she did not forget to eat or sleep during her day off, so she felt confident getting absorbed into the game until she heard her phone go off or the door open.

One noise she was not anticipating was the creaking sound of metal coming from the fire escape. Nessa flinched, but did not look right away. Multiple possibilities popped in her head, but two stuck out. In theory, Rebecca had, in the past, accessed their apartment through the fire escape with her magnetic abilities. It was a thought Vanessa was not going to entertain. Rebecca was not coming back, and if she was, she would come to the door; after an incident with Booker and his adapted field standing too close to the window, Rebecca had no interest in suffering an unexpected free-fall again.

More likely, there was a potential intruder outside. They were on a higher floor, but there were ways it could happen. The notion tensed Nessa’s body up.

Or it could be a fat pigeon. She had to consider the more realistic answer. Occam’s Razor and all that. She peeked out of the corner of her eye to quell her paranoia.

Unfortunately, she was pretty sure she saw eyes in her window. Human eyes. ****.

The window was still intact. The intruder was not making a move, but why would they delay? Was this a stalker? Peeping tom? It was possible, given Vanessa’s career and Booker’s dating record. Calmly, Vanessa stood up and walked toward the hallway, outside of the field of vision of the window, acting like she was none the wiser to her uninvited guest.

Popping into Booker’s room, (which was only an even remotely safe idea when he was out of the house,) Nessa found a replica Warhammer propped up on the floor. She lifted it, but it had fair heft to it, even as a knock-off. Good.

Hoisting the hammer until it was propped on her shoulder, she returned to the living room, but stuck close to the walls so she would not be easily spotted from the window. She sidled along the wall until she was right next to the window frame. Finally in position, she poked her head in front of the window, her large hammer proudly on display. Deadpan, she asked, ”Enjoying the view, pervert?”

Booker had a long history of being the one to pick Nessa up from the dark places she stuck herself in. When they were teenagers, he was the rock for her to cling to when her family was giving her a hard time. As they got older and Vanessa became an adult in her own right, she did what she could to repay the favor when necessary. Both siblings struggled to deal with heartache, so when Booker was hurting, Nessa would push outside her introverted comfort zone to help him. The offer for him to move in after his last breakup was the least she could do, even knowing what she was signing herself up for. Helping him get back to his feet was well-worth the cost off his occasional displays of obnoxiousness.

Occasionally, those displays were enough to make Vanessa smile. His heart-warming rendition of Firework hit its mark; she was sad, but she was smiling, and that was a start. He ignored her clever commentary to sing the rest of the song, so she curled up in her blanket and let him finish his performance. He was always the entertainer of the two, making himself the center of attention at parties. No one in high school would have guessed Vanessa would be the one joining some big internet production company, but most of their high school friends did not know the “real” Vanessa.

Nessa acknowledged her relation to a plastic bag, but Booker had his own ideas of how a bag might feel. The silliness of a sentient bag was one thing, but he really sold it with the pantomime. The younger sibling was laughing as her brother plopped next to her on the couch. It felt good to laugh again.

With the ice broken, Booker could empathize with Nessa without her shutting down. He knew what she was feeling, and the pitfalls to look out for. Nothing needed to be said for him to know how close shew as to checking Rebecca’s FaceSpace. Morbid curiosity was a familial trait, so it was important to hold one another accountable. ”Yes. Because you got weepy about Derek’s new haircut.” All rules started with a precedent-setting event.

Vanessa rested her head on her brother’s shoulder. ”Why do I bother dating people? It’s starting to feel like a losing prospect.”

Vanessa’s phone was on the armrest of the couch, and proved to be her greatest temptation. If she opened it, she could kick around the internet or social media, but it was the classic slippery slope. Maybe she went onto her FaceSpace account, just to look and see what the happier people were up to while she wallowed. Sure, she made sure Rebecca’s updates were not going to show up on her feed, but all it took was a moment of curiosity to click over to her profile. The best-case scenario ended with her pining for a girl she was not over. The worst-case scenario involved a post (or god-forbid, a relationship status update,) tagging Rebecca and the new old love of her life, Agnes. If Nessa was serious about avoiding more alcohol, she could not risk stumbling on news like that.

The loud RIIIIIIIIP registered on Nessa’s radar like a faint blip; her head lifted slightly to confirm that her brother was home, rather than an intruder-slash-robber. Once she put forth the minimal effort of ensuring she was still safe, her head returned to the throw-pillow. Acknowledging Booker seemed unimportant; he knew she knew he was there, so why waste breath on more words?

Booker was giving Vanessa the requisite amount of space needed to mourn and mope after a breakup, but even she knew her window of privacy was coming to a close soon enough. Her eyes were set on the television she was tuning out so she could avoid making eye contact with her brother. Her powers were useless around him, of course, but eye contact might be seen as an invitation to talk. Somehow, Booker walked past the couch to his room, and Nessa breathed a silent sigh of relief. She needed him soon; she always did when things got rough. In the moment, she could not think of how she could get out of her funk and into the right headspace to talk things out.

Dead to the world around her, Nessa was oblivious to the sounds of pre-mischief coming from Booker’s room; they were common enough to be considered white noise to her now. She considered turning off the television to lay there in true silence, reflecting on what happened, when familiar plucky notes approached from her brother’s room.

Generally, Vanessa liked her brother’s ukulele music, even if she was not keen on letting him in on that news. Some days, whether it was her mood, or her brother being obnoxious, it was just not the right option. On that day, both factors were in play.

And yet...

Nessa’s head lifted from the couch as she watched her brother serenaded her with his (admittedly) lovely voice and warm smile. Trying to stay upset in the presence of such an over-the-top tune was like trying to fight the sense of awe from a sunset. She grinned; a weak one, but it was there. ”You didn’t even bring Left Shark? It’s like you’re not even trying.”
There was a pause. Followed by Vanessa’s throaty laugh at her own joke.

Followed further by the fog around her regathering, reminding her why she was on the couch in the first place. ”This sucks, Book,” she admitted, feeling her smile vanishing. ”This is probably how a plastic bag feels. And it sucks.” She was bad for the environment and she was being dragged along by powers outside her control. There was also a good chance she smelled like garbage.