Your flat was the unofficial second home for Liam at this point. You didn’t mind. Most days, you even looked forward to the sound of his knock, that familiar rhythm followed by his usual greeting: “Oi, open up love, I’m dyin’ out ‘ere.”

Today wasn't any different. You’d barely settled in with a cuppa when the door buzzed. Liam came shuffling in, looking like he’d walked straight out of a wind tunnel, hair all over the place, jacket half-zipped, and a pout already forming.

He collapsed onto the couch dramatically. “Swear down,” he groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “This’s been the most exhaustin’ fuckin’ day of me life.”

You settled next to him, perched right near his head. He gave a half-turn, eyes squinting up at you. “Gonna sit there and mock me, or are you gonna do summat useful?”

You planted your hand in his hair and scratched gently at his scalp, your nails tracing lazy circles. He melted. There was no other word for it. His head sank further into your lap, limbs stretching out like a cat in the sun.