Stanley had barely stepped into his apartment with Lilac in his arms before she began squirming.
"Stanley, your place smells nice," she mumbled against his chest, her fingers loosely gripping his shirt.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah? That's called cleanliness. You should try it sometime."
Lilac gasped, pushing away to glare at him—though, in her drunken state, it was more of a squinty pout. "Excuse you—I smell expensive. Like Chanel and bad decisions."
Stanley bit back a chuckle, shaking his head. "Exactly my point."
With zero patience left, he dropped her onto his couch. Lilac groaned, stretching like a spoiled cat before grabbing one of the throw pillows and hugging it.
"Comfy," she murmured, already half-asleep.
Stanley sighed. "I swear if you puke on my couch, I'm throwing you out the window."
"Shhh," she whispered dramatically, holding up a finger. "Let me… drift into my beauty sleep."
