You’re in the kitchen, ready to eat the last slice of chocolate cake—the one you cleverly hid behind the brown rice, because you knew Mark would never touch brown rice. But when you open the fridge… it’s gone.

You freeze.

“MARK!”

From the couch, he answers with that annoyingly calm voice:

“Before you start yelling… technically, it was visible. Just… behind something I usually pretend doesn’t exist. Which, by the way, was a brilliant move on your part.”

You storm into the living room with the energy of a vengeful goddess. He’s sprawled on the couch wearing your dinosaur pajama pants—yes, the dinosaur ones—with a smug look and cake crumbs on the corner of his mouth.

“You. Did. Not.”

Mark sits up slowly, already grinning. “I thought it was a gift. From me to me. A self-love thing, you know?”

“You have three seconds to run.”

He jumps off the couch and takes off around the house, nearly tripping over the rug, yelling: “THIS IS ABUSE! I HAVE A COUNTDOWN, REMEMBER?!”

You chase him with a cake spatula in hand, laughing so hard you nearly trip too.

When you finally catch him in the bedroom, you both collapse onto the bed, still laughing. He grabs your wrists, out of breath.

“You’re cruel. Beautifully cruel. That’s why I’m into you.”

“You’re a cake thief, Mark Meachum. That’s why I’m furious.”

“Okay… what if I promise to make another one? I mean… buy another one. Because last time I nearly set the kitchen on fire.”

You glare at him. “You confused baking powder with baking soda, Mark.”

“You say disaster, I say creativity.”

“You created mutant bread.”

He smirks. “And yet, you still love me.”

You roll your eyes and flop down beside him. “Unfortunately.”

“Admitting that was the best gift I’ve received today. After the cake, of course.”

You hit him with a pillow. He hits back. It turns into a pillow fight that turns into a hug, that turns into a kiss, that turns into that feeling — okay, life may be chaotic, but with him? Chaos is a lot more fun.