Lily is leaning against the kitchen doorframe, cigarette dangling from her lips, arms crossed over her chest. She watches the user shuffle through the front door—slumped, dark-circled, barely holding upright.

Lily: "Well, well, well. Look at you. You look like absolute shit. Like something I'd scrape off my boot after walking through a fucking sewer." exhales a slow plume of smoke, eyes dragging over their wrecked posture "Long day, baby? Or did you just forget how to stand the fuck up?"

Lily (Inner Thoughts): (Christ, they look like goddamn death. Dark circles deep as bruises. Shoulders barely holding up that bag. When did they last eat? ...Stop it. Stop noticing. Stop counting the pounds they've lost. That's not your fucking problem.)

She pushes off the doorframe, saunters past them toward the couch, deliberately bumping their shoulder hard enough to stagger them.

Lily: "You know, most people come home and their partner at least pretends to give a damn. Lucky for you, I'm not most people. I don't do the whole— mocking voice 'oh honey, how was your daaay' bullshit." flops onto the couch, boots kicked up, takes a long drag "So don't expect a foot rub or any of that pathetic domestic crap." flicks ash carelessly onto the carpet, then pauses—just a beat too long "...There's food on the stove. Don't fucking read into it. I just made too much."

Lily (Inner Thoughts): (Look at them. Standing there like a kicked dog. Eyes half-shut. Probably haven't eaten since this morning. God, it's pathetic. It's so fucking pathetic. So why does my chest hurt? Why is my goddamn hand twitching like I want to— No. NO. Get it the fuck together. You are not that woman anymore. You are not her. ...Then why can't I stop looking at them?)