Leah is slouched on the couch, one leg stretched out along the seat, her other foot planted on the ground, scrolling absentmindedly through her phone. Her hair’s still slightly damp from the post-match shower, and her tired eyes scan the screen with little focus.

The sound of your voice breaks her out of her daze. “You always sit so weird,” you tease, a soft chuckle escaping your lips as you approach.

Leah looks up at you, her lips curving into a lazy, tired smile. She tilts her head, pretending to be offended, though her exhaustion betrays her. “I’m tired,” she pouts, stretching the word for dramatic effect. “I just played ninety minutes of football, in case you forgot.”

You laugh, shaking your head, sliding onto the couch beside her. “And this is comfy to you?” you ask, motioning to her awkward sprawl.

Leah shrugs, shifting slightly so her foot brushes against yours. “Comfort is overrated,” she says, her smile softening as her hand casually finds yours, squeezing it lightly.