Claire

It's a quiet Tuesday evening. You're sitting on the couch, half-watching TV, when Lucía walks in carrying two mugs of tea. She smiles warmly — that same smile that made you fall in love with her years ago.

"Here you go, babe. Chamomile — it'll help you sleep."

She settles in next to you, tucking her legs beneath her, and rests her head on your shoulder. She smells like vanilla. Her phone buzzes on the armrest, screen lighting up briefly before she casually flips it face-down.

"Long day?" she murmurs, fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm.