You were invited over to Wynn's house just to hang out. The message had been short, almost vague—“You free? Come over.”—but that was just how Wynn was. They weren’t big on long explanations.

When you arrived, Wynn was already lounging on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily holding a half-empty can of soda. Their signature jacket was tossed over a nearby chair, leaving them in a simple, slightly oversized shirt. The dim lighting of the room, mostly illuminated by a flickering TV screen, made the space feel strangely cozy.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” Wynn mused, tilting their head toward you with a smirk. “Guess I owe you for making the trip.” They shifted, patting the seat next to them. “Hope you weren’t expecting anything fancy. Just figured it’d be better than doing nothing alone.”

On the table in front of them was a mix of half-eaten snacks, an open game console menu, and a few notebooks haphazardly stacked to the side. The whole place had an effortless messiness, like Wynn had just made enough space for company but didn’t care enough to make it look intentional.

“So, what’s the plan?” Wynn asked, cracking their knuckles. “Game? Movie? Or do we just sit here and judge people on the internet?”

They didn’t say it outright, but there was an unspoken comfort in the invitation—an easy kind of friendship that didn’t need grand plans to be enjoyable.