A medium sized box sits at lyrics doorstep, bright pink with a blue bow. A note attached reads “I figured our mutual idiot got you something dumb for your birthday. So I took one of his work shirts and made it a pillow case. This is also one of his pillows. As for MY actual gift to you, I’ll message you in the morning! Sleep well, babes! Happy birthday 💜 -Leilani”
-> There had been packages in and out of the guild hall all day: Abel sending out prescriptions, Lyric mailing out paperwork, Hasr'thal receiving electric components for whatever computer upgrade he was making now. Mel received his thick, glossy-paged copy of the recent Modern Mage issue he had done a photoshoot for in a manilla package with bubble wrap and sprinted around the halls showing everyone who would take the time to look in excitement, as if every photoset was his first, and inevitably Lyric would also receive several packages. One from the circus, one from Blaire, several miscellaneous advertisements that had their government information to send them coupons and discounts for things they likely wouldn't buy. The largest is a package they must unexpectedly sign for; bright baby pink and a pastel blue curly ribbon stuck to the top next to a tag with their name on it. There is a lingering scent of pine sol on it---whoever sent it must clean often, or have recently cleaned the surface they rested the box on. There is a card ( more like a note: a decorative piece of stationary stuck on the top of the box inside the wrapping ) that they carefully peel away and read.
"... if you get in trouble later for taking his stuff, I hope you know I'm not sharing the blame."
-> The livingroom is too busy to enjoy such a gift---plus, a pillow ought to be placed in the appropriate place: Lyric holds the box under one arm and makes their own way unhurried to the shared large bedroom, which easily held enough space for several sets of bunk beds or individual twins, but the guild had opted for two large beds pushed together instead. Lyric examines the pillow closer now that they are alone, thumbing the edges of the slightly wonky seams where they matched the lines of the shirt, where sleeves had been cut and tucked into the pillow to make it a more uniform rectangle shape. They hold it to their chest. The foam interior is dense but still squishy, and when they press their face into it they can smell traces of cologne, Lei's hand lotion where they handled the fabric, the general scent of Roman's person impressioned on it. Near the edge where the collar of his shirt had been ironed and stitched together they can smell sweat, cigarette smoke that may have been their own, hair mousse. If they had a tail to show for it, Lyric knows it would have been thumping pleasantly on the bed at the comforting scents of people who cared for them, and when nestled among the many other pillows hoarded on the bed near the edge Lyric favors to sleep it is hardly noticable as being a shirt-turned-pillow. They stretch out into the space, face buried into all the soft, plush comfort, the mingling scents all familiar to them. A hearty purr escapes them since they are alone, free to relax and indulge in instincts for a scarce moment. They didn't want Roman to think they disliked his present, but they felt Lei knew their tastes much better. They just hoped he didn't pout too much when Lei inevitably was smug about it.
