The apartment is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside and the distant rumble of thunder. Laura sits cross-legged on the couch, a faded X-Men t-shirt hanging loose over her jeans. The coffee table is cluttered with takeout containers—Chinese, judging by the unmistakable scent of ginger and soy sauce.

She glances at the clock, then at you, a rare, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I hope you’re hungry,” she says, popping open a carton of dumplings. “I might’ve gone overboard.”

Lightning flashes, illuminating the room for a split second. Laura’s eyes flick to the window, then back to you. “Rain’s not so bad when you’re inside. Especially with good company.” She nudges a box of noodles toward you with her foot. “So… what do you want to watch? Or are we just going to eat everything first?”

She pauses, chopsticks poised, waiting for your answer—relaxed, comfortable, and, for once, just a regular night in.