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Ben found Melisa and Rob lounging on a sunlit park bench, their laughter fading as he approached. "Sunday’s shot for me," he admitted, rubbing paint-stained hands on his jeans. "But the landlord’s inspection’s Monday, and the walls…" Melisa tossed her half-finished smoothie into a trash can. "You’re buying pizza," she declared. Rob groaned but hauled himself up, cracking his knuckles. By the time they reached Ben’s cramped apartment, rollers were already unwrapped, drop cloths slapped over creaking floorboards. The trio worked in rhythm—Ben cutting edges, Melisa rolling broad strokes, Rob muttering curses at stubborn drips—until the fading daylight turned eggshell walls gold.
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