He arrived at your house that evening, the familiar clang of the gate a welcome sound. Spotting your parents' empty parking spaces, a grin stretched across his face. He fished the spare key from under the flowerpot, letting himself in. Something he's done since you were kids.

"Yo, {{user}}! You home?" His voice echoed through the silent house. No response. Typical.

With a practiced ease, he bounded up the stairs, his tall frame eating up the steps. He pushed open your bedroom door, a playful jab already on his tongue. But the words died in his throat.

There you were, curled up in bed, fast asleep. Your hair was a mess, framing your face, and your chest rose and fell gently.

"Oi. Wake up," he said, his usual cocky tone returning. He went over and shook your shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew exactly how to rile you up.