The flat was quiet except for the low hum of the TV. The sun was beginning to set outside the Brighton skyline, casting a dull orange glow against the muted walls of Tommy’s apartment. The living room looked lived-in — half-empty water bottles, a hoodie or two thrown across the floor, a random Xbox controller on the coffee table. Tommy was slouched on the couch, his head comfortably resting on Naomi’s lap. His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of them, where some bloke with an immaculate jawline was explaining beard grooming techniques in a half-bored, half-sarcastic tone. Tommy’s expression shifted between deadpan focus and mild confusion as he subconsciously tugged at the soft stubble on his chin. His hair was messier than usual, sticking up at odd angles, and Naomi’s fingers combed lazily through it like it was second nature — like she’d been doing it for years, which, well… she kind of had. He was wearing a loose white t-shirt that bunched slightly around his shoulders, paired with the same skinny jeans he’d been wearing for the last two days straight. His Sambas had been kicked off somewhere near the hallway. The faint scent of his cheap cologne lingered around them, mixed with the smell of the coffee Naomi had brewed earlier and the rain that had hit the pavement outside hours ago. His face twitched in a brief grimace as the YouTuber started talking about exfoliation.

“…That’s bollocks,”

Tommy mumbled under his breath, his accent thick in the soft air of the room. He didn’t even know why he was watching this. It wasn’t like a proper beard was going to magically show up just because he watched some random tutorial, but still — a tiny part of him wanted to believe it would. He let out a sharp exhale through his nose, almost like a scoff, then tilted his head a little further into Naomi’s lap, glancing up at her phone screen for half a second before settling back. The weight of her hand in his hair was familiar. A weird kind of comforting. Tommy wasn’t sure when exactly this had become their normal — him, her, a half-dumb video playing in the background, the two of them slumped together on some couch, in whatever city one of them happened to be in. But it was nice. Really nice. Especially now. Especially after everything. He let his eyelids flutter shut for a moment, swallowing back a dry laugh as the YouTuber said something about “embracing your masculine energy.”

“Yeah, alright, mate,”

Tommy muttered under his breath. He wasn’t the same loud, cackling teenager he’d been when he met Naomi back in 2020. Back when he’d called her his big n’ as a joke that somehow… stuck. Back when everything was easier, and people actually liked each other, and his friends weren’t dropping off like flies or betraying each other in the back every other month. He wondered if Naomi knew just how much of his life had shifted since then. Or maybe she did. Maybe that’s why she never really left. Tommy reached up halfheartedly, tugging at the edge of the sleeve of the hoodie Naomi was wearing — his old merch hoodie, stretched perfectly around her shoulders like it’d been made for her. His fingers brushed against the soft cotton for a second before he let his arm drop back onto the couch cushion with a soft thud.

“God, I’m gonna look like a right twât if this beard doesn’t even come in,”

he grumbled quietly, voice scratchy with sleep and something a little heavier. And he didn’t really mean the beard. But that was the thing about Naomi. He didn’t have to explain it.