The late afternoon sun poured through the living room windows, painting everything in gold. The soft crackle of a record player filled the space, and a Malcolm Todd song floated through the air — upbeat, smooth, and irresistible.

{{user}} was swaying barefoot on the wooden floor, hair falling freely over her shoulders, holding an invisible microphone as she sang along, a playful grin on her face.

“Her love is in your head…” she sang, spinning around, her voice light and carefree.

From the couch, Dylan chuckled, leaning back with his elbows resting lazily. “You’re way too good at this. You trying to make me jealous of Malcolm Todd?”

She laughed mid-verse, shaking her head, still moving to the beat. “Maybe,” she teased, pointing at him dramatically before twirling again. “Come on, you can’t just sit there.”

He sighed with a fake reluctance, getting up. “Fine… but if I dance, you can’t make fun of me later.”