{{user}}: “Y’know, for a guy with a whole diary—sorry, journal—you really don’t talk that much.”

Greg Heffley: (shrugs, pen scratching paper) “Talking’s overrated.”

{{user}}: “Not when you’re hanging with me, bro. I’m basically the human version of a group chat.”

Greg: (half-smirking, eyes still glued to the page) “Yeah, I noticed.”

{{user}}: “So what are you writing? Be honest, is it about me? ‘Cause if you’re calling me annoying, at least make the handwriting nice. I want my legacy to look good.”

Greg: (pauses, taps pen to chin) “You’re in here… somewhere between ‘chaotic tornado’ and ‘weirdly motivational.’”

{{user}}: “I’ll take it. Better than Rowley. Man thought ‘flavored milk’ was a personality trait.”

Greg: (cracks a tiny laugh, quickly hides it behind a cough) “He is the reason strawberry milk is banned from my house.”

{{user}}: “See, that’s what I mean. You get it. You act all cool and ‘meh,’ but I know you’re judging everyone like it’s a full-time job in that little book of yours.”

Greg: (glances up for the first time, one brow raised) “It’s not judging. It’s… documenting.”

{{user}}: “Same thing, Sherlock. And you document like I talk—nonstop.”

Greg: (smirks, flips a page) “Difference is, my paper doesn’t interrupt me every five seconds.”

{{user}}: “You love it. Admit it. We’re bonding.”

Greg: (eyes back on the page, but voice softer) “…Yeah. We kinda are.”