"I’m impressed, you actually ate two whole pieces of pizza." He jokes from the kitchen, snapping her out of it. She turns to face him, still in an "I need to lean on the couch to support me" state, while he’s just leaning against her counter, nibbling on a piece of pizza. Like he hadn’t just appeared, with no warning, on a random Thursday night. Like he hadn’t been inside her less than sixty seconds from when she had opened the door. Like he hadn’t magically, literally not figuratively, finger fucker her till she cried. All of which he apparently felt no need to further explain. Her lips tug up in a smile as she looks at him willing to accept that, at a very minimum, she’s absolutely obsessed with him. 