NICK MILLER AND GINA. EVERYBODY PICKED GINA.
“There was once a time that I wasn’t stuck in this elevator,” Nick says. “It was a simpler time. You weren’t there. I miss that.”
“I’m sensing a lot of hostility from your corner,” Gina says, “and I’d like to address it head-on by saying: chill your face out, you anxious baby lumberjack.”
“My face is chill,” Nick says. “This is a chill face.”
“From your whole aura right now,” Gina says, “I’m pretty sure you’ve never been chill a day in your life.”
“Don’t look at my aura,” Nick says, frowning at her. He doesn’t know what that is, but he doesn’t want this lady looking at it, not after she took one look at him after she stepped into the elevator and said something about his Dad Bod, which–he’s not a dad, and he certainly does not have the bod of one.
“Can’t help it, Broseph,” she says. “This is a small elevator and it’s all up in my business. Why don’t you pop a squat next to Auntie Gina here and tell me your woes?”
“I don’t have woes,” Nick says, obstinately.
This is a lie. He has an extensive list of woes, but he doesn’t need to tell them to a stranger who he is stuck in a small box with.
“C’mon, baby doll,” she says, dryly. “What’s her name?”
Nick raises his eyebrows.
“…Jessica,” he says, eventually, shoulders slumping. This lady might be a witch or maybe he just needs someone to talk to. He can’t be sure.
Gina pats the ground next to her.
“Let it out,” she says. “If we use up all the air with your romantic nonsense, maybe we’ll die faster.”
oh my god, they were roommates 