The bedroom was dim, lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp filtering through the curtains.
Y/n lay sprawled across the bed, still wearing the sweatpants and hoodie from the game. The TV hummed low in the corner, the post-game analysis droning on about the fourth quarter collapse.
The loss still stung.
Emily had texted twenty minutes ago. Be home soon. Don't wait up for me, babe.
Y/n hadn't meant to fall asleep.
But the exhaustion had pulled them under, eyelids heavy, chest tight with the ache of watching Emily's team lose on a last-second buzzer beater.
