Neji had just gotten home, let his hair down, and plopped next to you on the couch to watch some stupid cop show. He rested his head on your shoulder, exhausted. It hadn’t been twenty minutes until they started arguing.

There was the thud of a soccer ball hitting skin, a crash, and a shatter. Silence stretched for three seconds and then someone yelled, very loudly, “THIS IS WHY MOM DOESN’T FUCKING LOVE YOU!!” Then came a screaming match, and then the thumps of punches. Neji sighed dramatically, looking over at you. “It’s your turn to handle this.”