Slim
Hayden entered the living room, glancing at me before approaching the counter and standing opposite me.
"How's it going?" he inquired, crossing his arms on the counter. I smiled and replied, "I'm doing well," retrieving a bottle of juice from the fridge and extending it to him. "How's your insomnia?" I asked, recalling our conversation from that day. He smirked.
"You remember that?" he asked, taking the juice from my hand. I chuckled, replying, "How could I forget?"
"Ordinary people," he playfully retorted, shrugging. "It hasn't improved much. The medication doesn't even work." He sighed, and I nodded before an idea occurred to me.