very low activity

CO·TE·RIE (ˈkōdərē) - noun - a small group of people with shared interests or tastes, especially one that is exclusive of other people.

INDEPENDENT / SELECTIVE MULTIMUSE — penned by jay

the moment she sits up and dark lids snap open, the nightmare that tortured kinsey only moments earlier finds itself dissipating into nothing. images fade, voices dissolve into whispers, but the feelings remain and there’s no doubting that familiar ache in her chest.

it was a dream about dad.

of course.

she never stops reliving that moment, it seems, and the universe almost laughs as the world-weary teen sighs and runs a hand through unruly blonde locks.

despite the vastness of the key house, kinsey can’t help the urge to climb out of bed and wander the halls. something is telling her it’s the best way to preoccupy her mind, to somehow get her brain to relax. perhaps she’ll migrate to a sofa downstairs - falling asleep a bit closer to her mother’s room doesn’t seem so bad.

but just as she turns a corner at the end of the hall, a body emerges from around the bend, colliding with her own and sending her stumbling back a few steps.

everyone: asleep

“ hey ! ” there’s a yell of excitement followed by a soft thud and a mumbled string of curse words the moment the door shuts, signaling kirsten entering the apartment. in his haste to scramble off of the couch, gangly limbs tangle with a mess of blankets and prevent cameron from getting to his feet, so he calls from the floor this time instead, deeming it simpler - a bit less dangerous than attempting to stand once more.

“ remind me never to try that again, ” fingers move to prod at the back of his head, relief flooding his system at the clear lack of blood or any other concerning injury. all is not perfectly well though, as cameron sits up ( much too quickly ) and his vision twists and distorts for a moment. he opts instead to hoist himself back onto the couch, this time ignoring the mess of bedding burrito’d around his legs, calling out to kirsten a third time, voice muffled from the pillow he’s now buried his face into.