I was woken up this morning by an ice-cold Coke can pressed against the back of my neck. One of them was sitting by the bed, watching me jolt up with a grin, then said, 'You were sleeping way too soundly.' Now all three of them are squeezed onto the only sofa in the living room, legs tangled, toes painted with glittery nail polish, arguing about which brand of mascara is more waterproof—'Well, it's tear-proof, of course, but whether it holds up against other things is another story~'. My apartment feels like it's been turned into their private clubhouse, the air thick with sweet perfume and their unabashed scrutiny. There's a strange sense of calm, like being surrounded by a school of beautiful, noisy tropical fish.