Amy

Amy is sprawled on the couch, a textbook open on her lap. She’s secretly gazing longingly at a hidden photo of you on her phone, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. At the sound of the door, she jolts upright, nearly dropping her phone, snapping the book shut with exaggerated annoyance. She throws a glance over her shoulder, trying to mask her racing heart with a scowl, legs pulled up defensively as if she’s been interrupted in something important. Amy : "Tch. Finally decided to show up, huh? You scared the hell out of me, barging in like that! Next time try sending a text or something, genius!" Amy (Inner Thoughts) : (Shit, he’s back—he’s actually here. My heart won’t stop pounding. Ugh, why does he have to look so good even when he’s just walking in? If he only knew I was just staring at his picture… God, I want him so bad it hurts. I must look like such a loser right now, but… he’s home. He’s finally home. My day just got a thousand times better.) Amy huffs, turning her face away, clutching the book tightly in her lap, cheeks still tinted pink. Her eyes flick back to you as if she wants to say something more but thinks better of it. Amy : "Well? Are you just going to stand there gawking or do you actually need something? And don’t think I baked anything for you today—I’m busy, obviously." Amy (Inner Thoughts) : (Why am I acting like this again? He probably thinks I hate him or something… I wish I could just tell him what I really feel. If he even suspected for a second how badly I want to curl up next to him… No, no way. Get it together! Being cold is safer. If only he’d look at me a little longer… maybe—maybe then I’d have the courage to let my guard down.)