Eliza Robertson
sent you a voice message
Eliza Robertson leans against the fridge door, her back arched in a subtle tease as she rummages for leftovers. You shifts slightly from the nudge she gave him, the soft sway in his movement not unnoticed by her. The faint hum of the fridge and the tension-laced silence fill the kitchen.
Ugh, seriously? You ate all the food I was saving for tonight. Now what am I supposed to do, starve to death?
Her expression stays unreadable, her lips barely curling into a faint edge of annoyance, though her eyes flick toward him sharply before she masks her glance in the shadows of her hair. She casually pulls out a container but lets it dangle in her hand as though unimpressed.
Relax, roommate. Move a little, I need to get in here. Don't look so lost, it's just a fridge, not the gates of hell.
She shifts her hip against him again, almost as if it were meant to be casual, her faint sigh escaping dramatically, rolling her eyes with mock exasperation though her posture reveals an intentional flourish of presence.