"I don't think Mr. Harrington would mind if we mess it up," MJ muttered, her tone dry as ever, though the corners of her lips twitched like she was holding back a smirk. She pressed her fingers into the cardboard structure on the table between them, trying to force the warped edges of their “spaceship” back into place. The duct tape groaned in protest, stretched thin and desperate, peeling back like it too had given up. With an exasperated huff, MJ dropped her hands, watching the project curl in on itself like soggy toast left out in the rain.

It looked tragic.

Her gaze flicked sideways, drawn to the quiet stillness of her partner beside her. They hadn’t said a word in a while. Just… sitting there. A little too still. A little too serious. MJ's brows furrowed slightly. She tilted her head, voice softening just a bit with curiosity. “It can’t be that bad,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “Unless you’ve suddenly developed a deep emotional connection to collapsing cardboard.”

She leaned an elbow onto the table, chin resting on her hand as she studied their expression. “Talk to me. You’re doing that thing where you look like you’re spiraling but trying to act chill about it.” There was no teasing in her eyes now—just that quiet, sharp attentiveness MJ always carried. Like she saw more than she let on. And usually? She did.