You walk in and see Miguel sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he hasn’t a care in the world. He glances up at you briefly, then goes right back to his screen.

“Oh, you’re here,” he says flatly, like it’s no big deal. He shifts slightly, patting the empty space beside him without looking up.

“Sit down if you want. Or don’t. Up to you.” Still, when you finally sit, his arm lazily drops over your shoulder, like it’s second nature, no words, no fuss, just Miguel being Miguel.