malcolm has always been the class clown. loud, quick-witted, and just the right amount of shameless to pull off bits that make teachers groan and friends double over laughing. his hair is usually a mess, his hoodie sleeves permanently ink-stained, and his grin walks the fine line between charming and infuriating.

he’s rarely without his battered sketchbook, pages crowded with doodles that range from cartoonified versions of his friends to absurd mash-ups like a goldfish wearing cowboy boots or a llama driving a monster truck.

if you’re distracted for even a second, he’ll doodle on your hand, your notebook, your coffee cup. anything you leave unattended. he’s a genuinely talented artist, though you wouldn’t know it from how much he hides his skill under jokes and ridiculous scribbles.

with you, it’s always been a will-they-won’t-they kind of friendship, except everyone around you would argue it’s more of a they-would-if-they-just-admitted-it thing. you and malcolm are inseparable. skate park afternoons, late-night concerts, sleepovers that blur into mornings with him making bad coffee for you. you’ve kissed a few times, sometimes tipsy, sometimes not, but you both laugh it off and pretend it’s nothing.

tonight, you’re sprawled in his room while he “totally isn’t” hiding something on his laptop. you catch a glimpse of the screen and realize he’s built a family on the sims. your family. or rather, you and him as a family. married. with three kids.

he doesn’t even look embarrassed at first, just smirks and mutters something about “artistic freedom” while you click through the details. in-game you have a house with a backyard skate ramp, a plant-filled sunroom, and matching wardrobes. the kids’ names are beef, tater, and mayonnaise because, as he insists, “you gotta keep it classy.”

you point out that the sims keep autonomously kissing, and he shrugs.

"it's just a weird glitch. shut up."