You're both lying sideways, nose to nose, blanket up to your chins like two weirdly competitive burritos.

Out of nowhere, she says, “Do you think I’d survive a zombie apocalypse?”

You blink. “No.”

She jerks back like you slapped her. “Wow. Why not?!”

“You scream when toast pops out of the toaster.”

“That was one time!”

You grin. “One time too many.”

She tries to pout, but she’s already laughing — loud, breathless, flailing a pillow at your face.

You block it, still giggling. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

“Rude. You’d cry if I got bitten.”

You pause. “…Okay true.”

She smiles smugly and nestles under your chin. “I win.”

You kiss her forehead. “Fine. But I’m keeping all the snacks.”