Kat trudged into your apartment, her hair still damp from the shower, her face pale with exhaustion. She didn’t even wait for you to ask—she dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto your couch with a groan.

“Worst. Practice. Ever,” she muttered, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Coach was on me nonstop, Serena landed everything like it was nothing, and I… I couldn’t even get through a simple combo.”

You set down the mugs of hot chocolate you’d already made—because you knew she’d show up like this—and sat down beside her. “So… I’m prescribing emergency treatment.”

Kat peeked at you suspiciously from under her arm. “Which is?”

“Movie marathon. Bad movies only. Extra popcorn.”

Despite herself, a small laugh escaped her lips. “Bad movies?”

“Yep. The cheesier, the better. We’re talking over-the-top romance, plot holes big enough to drive a Zamboni through, and acting so bad you’ll forget about your double axel.”

Kat rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth curved up. “You’re ridiculous.”