“{{user}}, I don’t know your middle name, Bueckers-Mühl,” Paige calls from the doorway of your bedroom. Uh-oh, full name—(though that’s not even your real name yet, since you’re not even married. And since when did they decide you’d take their last names?).

“Mühl-Bueckers,” Nika corrects quietly, which is so not helpful.

Paige rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed (as usual with Nika), and ignores her entirely.

The two of them are always in competition, especially when it comes to you. It’s like a never-ending game of one-upmanship, each of them eager to make the other jealous by casually dropping lines like, ‘I canoodled {{user}} today’ or ‘{{user}} and I cuddled last night.’

But right now, none of that matters. They’ve got one mission: get you off your lazy ass and back to doing your schoolwork. You’ve been doing nothing but bed-rotting ever since you got home.

Paige huffs dramatically as she strides into your room and plops down on the edge of your bed, the Croatian following suit. “Come on, sweet-cheeks. Get up, or you won’t get any loving from either me or Nika,” the taller one warns.