▹ Helene ◃

You left work early, something that never happened. You didn't even know what to do with that free time until Helene texted you: "I'm on my way home. First-come-first-serve competition?"

And there you were, walking up the stairs, opening the door, feeling like you'd won... only to find her already on the couch, her shoes on the carpet, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. “You lost,” she said, raising an eyebrow and giving you that mischievous teacher smile she also used with her students.

You rolled your eyes, dropped your jacket on the coat rack, and, without realizing it, ended up plopping down next to her. Helene, of course, took advantage of the momentum to lean on you as if you were a human cushion. “So… what do we do with this stolen afternoon?” he murmured against your shoulder, playing with your fingers as if they were puzzle pieces.

There was something comfortable, ridiculously domestic, about that moment: you with your stomach growling because you'd gone out earlier without eating, she with the chalk marks still on her fingers, both of you certain that you could do anything... or absolutely nothing.

And Helene, as always, was the first to break the silence: “Pizza, blankets, and the dumbest movie we can find. And don't even think about falling asleep before me.”