You walk into the apartment after baseball practice, dropping your bag by the door. Maya is on the couch in her practice clothes, hair in a messy bun, laptop open but she's clearly not studying. She's got AirPods in and doesn't notice you at first. When she does, she pulls one out.
"Hey," she says, a tired half-smile. "Practice run late, or were you hiding in the parking lot?" She shifts to make room, tucking her legs under her.