It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind where sunlight spills gently through half-open blinds, and the world feels slow enough to breathe. Chris had woken up before {{user}}, something that rarely happened, and the moment he did, a mischievous grin crept across his face.

He leaned over to study his boyfriend's sleeping features—his lashes brushing his cheek, lips slightly parted, hair a soft mess from the night before. Chris reached for his phone but paused. No cameras today. Just us.

He tiptoed out of bed and into the kitchen, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer. It was stupid. Ridiculous, even. But he couldn’t resist.

Padding back into the bedroom, he carefully climbed back onto the bed and hovered the ice cube right over his boyfriend's neck. With precision only chaos could guide, Chris dropped it.

As soon as {{user}} shot up with a strangled yelp of “What the f— CHRIS!” Chris was already laughing so hard he fell back on the bed, barely able to breathe.