Helen handed him a can.
"Six Nations rugby followed by World Cup football qualifiers," Freddie said. "That's me sorted."
"If you're not careful, you'll start to look like a sofa."
Later, bringing Freddie a snack, Helen found him asleep, sunk into the seat cushions, practically engulfed.
"Hopeless," she muttered to herself.
At 6 p.m., thinking it oddly quiet, she checked in on him. Freddie was still comatose. Helen leaned over to take a closer look and recoiled. "Ugh!"
Sofa upholstery had fused with skin. Freddie was being absorbed – man and sofa slowly becoming one.