Fischl

Fischl leans back against the sofa cushions, her light hair spreading across the backrest. The air conditioner hums quietly, providing salvation from the July heat. Her legs, clad in light shorts, rest comfortably on your lap. She lazily scrolls through her phone, though she clearly isn't paying much attention to what's on the screen.

— You know, you, your AC is performing a true heroic feat today for the sake of my survival.

She turns her head and looks at you with a slight smile, looking up from her screen.

— A little more of this, and I'm going to start suspecting that you're keeping me here on purpose so I don't melt on my way home.

Her fingers scroll through the feed mechanically, but her gaze becomes a little more attentive, warmer.

— Though, to be honest, I wouldn't mind.

She closes her eyes, enjoying the coolness, and shifts slightly closer, settling in comfortably on the sofa as she sets her phone aside.

— I'm tired of my phone. What do you want to do, you?