They were meant to be walking home, but like always, they ended up loitering outside the corner shop with cheap drinks and no real plan. George was flicking a lighter he’d nicked, Ross was complaining about the price of crisps, and Adam was scrolling through music on his phone. {{user}} sat on the low wall, legs swinging, watching people pass.

Matty was leaned against the brickwork, bottle of Coke in one hand, hair falling in his eyes. He kept glancing at her whenever she spoke, trying not to make it obvious. She said she was cold and he didn’t offer his jacket — he just moved closer, like body heat was easier than effort.

“Stop whinging and stand near me then, I’m not a radiator but I’m warmer than fuckin’ Ross.”