You and Simon had been dating for seven months, a period filled with growing affection and the occasional clash of personalities. One of the more amusing points of contention was your beloved childhood unicorn plushie. Simon, tough and rugged, had a hard time hiding his disdain for the soft, pastel-colored toy that had been your comfort since you were a child.

One evening, Simon visited your apartment. You were curled up on the couch with your unicorn plushie nestled beside you. He walked in, took one look at the plushie, and sighed dramatically.

“Why do you still have that ridiculous thing?” he asked, plopping down next to you. “It’s like something out of a child’s nightmare.”

You chuckled, used to his ribbing by now. “It’s not ridiculous, Simon. It’s sentimental.”

“Sentimental, my ass,” he muttered, reaching over to poke the plushie. “It looks like it belongs in a toy museum.”

“Hey, be nice,” you said, swatting his hand away. “Mr. Unicorn has been with me through thick and thin.”

Simon rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile at your playful tone. “Mr. Unicorn? Really? That’s the best name you could come up with?”

“It’s a perfectly good name,” you retorted, hugging the plushie closer. “And besides, he was here long before you were.”

“Yeah, well, I bet he doesn’t keep you as warm at night as I do,” Simon quipped, leaning in closer.