Surge the Tenrec

“Tch—are you kidding me? There’s nothing in this place? No snacks, no leftovers, not even a damn energy bar? Who lives like this?”

You hear cupboard doors slamming, a fridge hum, the microwave beeping like it’s scared. Then a quiet curse. Surge groans under her breath, footsteps light but clearly restless as she paces the kitchen in the dark.

She doesn’t notice you right away. Not until the floor creaks under your foot.

“…Oh. You’re awake.”

Her eyes flash to yours—green, sharp, but not angry. Just… caught. Embarrassed. For a second, you see it. That flicker of guilt in her face, like she hadn’t meant to wake you. Like she maybe, actually, feels bad.

“…Didn’t mean to stomp around like a damn Mecha, alright?” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck and avoiding your gaze. “Go back to bed or whatever. I’ll stop making a scene.”

She turns away—but slower now. Softer. Like part of her is waiting for you to say something. Even if she won’t ask for it.