It was one of those slow, rainy afternoons where the world outside seemed muted and soft. The living room was cozy — the kind of warm where socks feel like a good idea and the couch has become more of a friend than a piece of furniture.

{{user}} was sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through an old magazine, while Chris lay on his stomach across the rug, eating dry cereal straight from the box and doodling in a notebook.

Peace didn’t last long.

“Wait a second… is that my hoodie?” {{user}} narrowed her eyes at the familiar navy blue fabric on him.

Chris looked up, completely unbothered. “Yours? I don’t see your name on it.”

She dropped the magazine dramatically. “Chris. Give it back.”

“No.”

“Don’t play with me.”

“Make me.”

That was it.

She launched herself at him — gracelessly, with zero tactical planning — and Chris barely had time to react before she landed across his back, half-laughing, half-wrestling him for the hoodie.

“Give. It. Back!” she said between giggles, trying to pull the fabric over his head while he rolled onto his side.

“Are you trying to pin me? That’s adorable,” he teased, holding his arms up like he was surrendering, but not really helping either.