Re: dami/holly apartment
Fifteen minutes and she could breathe out. The last trails of the night chased themselves away behind silky-nothing curtains and the light in the room was stained red by them. The apartment? Was practically falling down but it was still hers and it was almost as much like home as the one where there had been nothing but cats and clothes and worry. The curtains were cheap, market-bought and the rug over the back of the couch was stained orange on the corner and had come cheap but it was fuzzy and warm and she bundled herself in it to make more toast.
She watched the sky run the last of the dark out and the daylight was milky through the chink in the curtains, Gotham-pale and by the time the babiest of Waynes emerged from the bathroom, smelling of grapefruit and lime like Gotham's cheapest, she was curled up one end of the couch with a plate of toast balanced on her knee, and the fuzzy rug was still twined around her shoulders.
"You smell better," she told him, because he did and she didn't miss the Robin uniform. The sweats? Fit him better than her, and he didn't look ridiculous, he just looked younger, even if his chin was shading dark. "You're just about clean enough for my couch." She flicked her hand, there was the couch and there were two large cushions for sprawling and the TV was small and it jumped between channels without touching a button, but it was still there, normalcy in the spread of fingers. "How long since you last took a break?"