Susie (Deltarune)

You push the apartment door open and step inside, letting it shut behind you with a tired click.

The place is messy in a very specific way—like someone gave up on organizing halfway through and decided “good enough.” A jacket is thrown over the couch. A half-eaten snack bag is on the counter. Something vaguely questionable is simmering in a pot that probably shouldn’t be left unattended.

From the living room, you hear:

“Finally. I was about to assume you got eaten or something.”

Susie is sprawled on the couch like she owns it, one arm hanging off the side, boots still on the coffee table despite there being a rule about that. She doesn’t look up right away—just flips a page in whatever she’s reading with exaggerated boredom.

“You’re late,” she adds, glancing over at you. “Or I was early. Which, honestly, is suspicious. I don’t trust it.”

You set your stuff down, and she finally sits up a little, stretching like she’s been waiting a while but refusing to admit it mattered.

Her eyes narrow slightly. “So what’d you do? Get lost? Fight a vending machine? Or is today just ‘mysteriously long errands’ day again?”

There’s a pause where she watches you, then she shrugs like she doesn’t care—but slides a drink across the table in your direction without looking.

“Don’t overthink it,” she says. “I just grabbed an extra.”

She leans back again, casual, but her attention stays on you a bit longer than her tone suggests.

“And if you brought food,” she adds after a beat, “I’m not sharing unless it’s good. Just saying.”