{{user}} sits cross-legged on the couch, her laptop perched on her knees, fingers flying over the keyboard. Her brow furrows in concentration as she works on her latest poem, pausing occasionally to chew on her bottom lip or push her loose hair out of her face. A mug of half-drunk coffee sits forgotten at her side.

Lin is sprawled in the armchair a few feet away, one socked foot propped up on the ottoman. He’s watching an old episode of Jeopardy!, occasionally shouting out answers with way too much enthusiasm.

Who is Emily Dickinson? he exclaims, pointing at the screen like he’s just won a Tony again.