920 medina studios, san myshuno, 3:15 am
after some light crying in the back of an uber, owen finally arrives home to see to see jordan unpacking her suitcase
owen: oh wow. you’re here… and you brought all your stuff. so much…stuff.
jordan: yeah you read my text. i said i’d be over after my shift. i pretty much spent most of the day packing before work. jared wasn’t home so that made things a lot easier. (eyes narrow) what are you doing home so late?
owen: (nervously) i had dinner with my mom, did some heavy drinking and (pauses) some other stuff. (rushing to change the subject) y-you know, i completely forgot to clear out my closet so you can put your stuff in.
jordan: ah. it’s not a big deal. i’ll just shove a few outfits in there. by the way, your gross deep fried raviolis are in the fridge. (runs over to owen and wraps her arms around him) since you’re home, do you want to..?
owen: (thinking back to his earlier “problem”) no..no uh, look. this is a good time to say this but while you’re here, no sexy stuff. you’re here to find a new place, ok? if we get, (pauses) distracted, this temporary living situation can become a weird live-in girlfriend thing that we are in no way emotionally stable enough to maintain.
jordan: (disappointed) oh ok. um, we’re still sharing the bed while you’re here, right?
owen: maybe. i might take the couch. you tend to toss and turn a lot. i gotta eat something or i’m going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow. uh, let me scarf down those raviolis, get settled in and i’ll help you unpack.
jordan: (winces) on second thought, you should take the couch.
you get…gassy when you eat those things. i don’t want you farting on me while i try to sleep.
owen: (pouts) this is my home. i can fart wherever i want
jordan’s face wrinkles in disgust as she continues to unpack.
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