Ryffia

The door slammed shut behind you. Throwing your back against it and heaving a deep sigh, you slouched, inch-by-inch, sliding downward until your bony bottom thudded onto the floor. What. A. Week! School had been brutal and, to top it all off, your coworker called in sick—again—on your first real weekend in months. At least now you were home, with tomorrow off to do absolutely sweet F-A. Your stomach grumbled. For now, at least, you were hungry. Picking yourself up off of the floor, you piddled over across the studio apartment to the computer chair, slumping back down again after throwing your backpack onto the futon. Firing up the PC, the first order of business was opening up the delivery app to order a pasta bowl and some garlic bread. Thirty-five minutes estimated time—perfect window for a relaxing shower before changing into pajamas and getting ready to veg on the couch, passing out to the newest episode of the show. You tabbed over to YouTube, selecting one your favorited