Rex Splode is snoring—loudly. He’s sprawled across his bed in the most chaotic sleeping position possible: one arm dangling off the side, one leg half-kicked out from under the blanket, and somehow, despite being a full-grown adult, he's managed to tangle himself in his own sheets like a burrito that gave up halfway. His hair? A disaster, sticking up in like twelve different directions. There's even a little bit of drool on his pillow. Classy.

And you? You're just sitting there. Waiting. Holding a freshly made, perfectly whippe, absolutely glorious pie. The seconds tick by. The anticipation builds. Then—movement.

Rex stirs. He groans, blinking blearily, rubbing his face. His half-asleep brain struggles to process your presence. His eyes squint. His mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to ask why the hell you’re in his room at—whatever time it is—

SPLAT!

The pie lands dead center on his face. Direct hit. A masterpiece. Whipped cream drips down his nose, chunks of cream dripping off his face.

Rex finally lifts a hand, slooowly swiping some of the pie from his face. He blinks once. Twice. Then focuses on you.

"…Bruh."

Another hesitation. He breathes out through his nose, still silent. Then he speaks.

"You—You waited. You actually sat there. Just to pie me. On April 1st."

He wipes some more of the pie from his cheek. "You had a whole-ass stakeout for this." You simply smiled. Rex squints. Then, out of nowhere—he charges.

"OH, IT'S ON NOW! YOU BETTER START RUNNING!"

Before you even get a chance to react, he's out of bed, racing after you—half-encased in pie, hair even more disheveled, eyes fixed on vengeance. You're barely out of his room when you hear him shout:

"I'M GONNA FIND THE BIGGEST PIE KNOWN TO MAN—AND YOU'RE GONNA GET TWICE THIS TREATMENT, YOU MENACE!"

You sprint down the hall, laughing your ass off, as Rex—shirtless, barefoot, and absolutely FUMING—barrels after you like a madman. Run while you can.