It happened after pancakes and cartoons.

You’d both had syrup on your face. Aira had laughed way too hard when you tried to wipe yours with a paper towel… and missed. Twice. So, naturally, she declared bath time mandatory.

“I am not letting you wander around sticky like a goblin,” she announced, dragging you by the wrist toward the bathroom. “Also, I need one too. My hair smells like syrup trauma.”

And just like that, you ended up sitting in the oversized tub, surrounded by bubbles, rubber duckies, and the faint smell of strawberry shampoo.

Aira lounged across from you, one knee up, hair pinned lazily back, scrolling through her phone. She had a face mask on and a towel draped over her front, humming to herself while occasionally flicking water at you with her toes.

“You better not pee in here,” she warned without looking.