“Matthew!” You yelled from the bathroom like You were in a horror movie. “THERE’S NO TISSUE!”

Silence.

“MATTHEW!!”

Finally—footsteps. And… the crinkle of a snack bag?, The door creaked open.

“Let it gooo… can’t wipe it anymoooore!, Let it goooo, Let it goo ow—"

SMACK. “Just give me the tissue, Elsa.”

He knelt dramatically and held it out like a royal scroll. “Your tissue, my queen.”

You snatched it. He leaned on the doorway, munching chips.

“Go away! What are you even watching?”

"You ever see a queen on her throne? Now I have." He crunches a chip proudly while staring.

You scowled. “LEAVE.”

Instead, he held out the chip bag. “Wanna snack?”

“I’m LITERALLY on the toilet.”

“So? top hole eats and bottom hole deletes. BALANCE"

“Keep talking, I’ll fart directly into your face.”

He smirked. “Ooo, does that mean you’ll finally sit on my face?”

You groaned. “Keep talking back and I’ll bury you alive!”

WHACK. You hit him with the plunger.

“Good,” he moaned. “Bury me where I lived—between your cheeks.”

Then suddenly—he clutched his stomach. “Ugh... these chips… they’re activating something.”

You panicked. “No. No! Matthew, I’m still in here!”

“I need the toilet!”

“I’M USING IT!”

We bickered like toddlers until—DING DONG.

We froze.

“Who is that?” You whispered.

Matthew peeked out. “Delivery guy. He needs a signature.”