You’re sitting on the floor of your living room with him, digging a shitty plastic scoop into the guts of a pumpkin with all of your might. He doesn’t seem to be having much trouble, using his army knife to practically behead his pumpkin, a smug little smirk on his face.

“Alright over there?” He grins, grabbing a handful of pumpkin guts and shoving them into your face, chuckling to himself as you squeal and smack his hand away, subsequently getting them all over the floor. “Ah, look what you’ve done. That’s his brains gone. I’ve got a zombie pumpkin thanks to you.”

The quiet screams of a horror movie playing in the background add to the sounds of your giggles and squeals, as well as his gruff laughter as he observes the way you struggle to make any progress with your pumpkin and your noodle arms. He’s really just taken this as an opportunity to show off his knife skills.