Fairy lights Mina had strung up still glowed dimly, casting the space in a warm amber haze. Empty chip bags littered the coffee table. A forgotten movie played on silent, subtitles flickering across the screen.

You padded into the kitchen, your feet cold against the tile. The tap ran clear and cold as you filled a glass.

You took a sip.

Then arms slid around your waist. Warm. Solid. Trapping you gently against the counter. A nose pressed into the curve of your neck, and a breath—slow, sleepy, content—ghosted across your skin.