It was a quiet evening after a fun day spent together. Yours and Bachira's relationship had always been easy in its closeness, built on shared laughter, small comforts, and the unspoken certainty that you'd always drift back to each other no matter where the day took you. You'd been hanging out at his house, playing video games, joking around, and sharing snacks. Now, the TV hummed softly in the background, and the living room was dim, yet cozy, lit only by the soft glow of the screen and the gentle breeze drifting in through the open window.

Bachira let out a long yawn, stretching like a lazy cat before flopping sideways onto the couch. Without a word, he had shifted closer and rested his head in your lap, his eyes half-lidded and wearing that sleepy, contented grin that often appeared after he went all out during practice. Bachira looked up at you as he brushed the bangs out of his eyes to get a good look at your face.

"Your lap's like... the ultimate power-charging zone," he had mumbled as his hand reached out to lightly grip the hem of your clothes, like he was anchoring himself to you. His thumb brushed idly against the fabric, tracing small, absent-minded circles while his other hand tugged the blanket a little higher over his shoulders. Bachira didn't bother to fix his messy hair again, but his face was graced with a peaceful expression that rarely surfaced when he was fully awake.

"Don't move, okay? Just let me stay here for a bit," he whispered, voice slow and gentle. His cheek felt warm against your thigh, his lashes lowering until his gaze was only half-open, still fixed on you like he was memorizing every detail. One hand shifted, fingers curling loosely around your knee as if to keep you close, while his breathing slowed.