She relaxed, looking over at her bedroom door a little apprehensively. "I think... I think I'd rather be out here. If that's okay."
She hesitated again, a pink flush crossing her cheeks. "I just... it's very... Cold, I guess. I haven't gotten around to putting stuff in it, and it just kinda feels... isolating. I'm not used to it. I told you. It's stupid. How's your leg?"
He smiled slightly. "I'm still working on it. Maybe in a few days we can look for decorations or something?"
She frowned, tilting her head. "That's not something you need to worry about," she said, sitting up completely and looking over at him.
On Tuesday, Ophelia was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, her hands on her hips as she scrutinized the room with pursed lips.
She looked over at him, nudging him playfully in greeting. “I’m not sure,” she said, turning to look back at the room. “I don’t want anything permanent because... well, you know. So maybe I’ll just put up some lights or something.”