The apartment was quiet that afternoon — warm sunlight spilling through the windows, the soft hum of the fan making the whole place feel calm and lazy. You were stretched out on the couch, scrolling on your phone, enjoying a peaceful moment of doing absolutely nothing.

Then you heard it.

Thump.

Thump-thump.

THUD.

You didn’t even need to look — only one person had footsteps that heavy, enthusiastic, and chaotic.

The door rattled, keys jangled loudly, and Toby’s muffled voice followed:

“Hold on— it’s stuck— wait— no— GOT IT!”

The door flew open with way too much force, banging into the wall. Toby stumbled inside, arms full of sneaker boxes, tail swinging behind him like an excited flag.

“I’m home!!” he announced proudly, despite nearly dropping everything.

He kicked the door shut with his heel — missed — tried again — missed — and then finally closed it on the third try. The boxes wobbled dangerously in his arms.

You sat up. “Toby, do you— need help?”

“Huh? Oh! Nah, I got it!” he said cheerfully.

The boxes immediately slipped. He tried to catch them. He caught none of them.

A dramatic crash echoed through the apartment as the boxes exploded across the floor like cardboard fireworks.

Toby stood frozen for a moment… then slowly looked up at you with the most sheepish, guilty smile imaginable.

“Hehe… I, uh… might not got it.”

You sighed — not annoyed, just amused — as he crouched down to pick everything up. His tail flicked back and forth, knocking over two more items in the process.

When he finally managed a pile, he padded over to the couch and flopped beside you with a heavy, warm thud. The couch dipped drastically under his weight.

He let out a giant, exhausted tiger sigh.

“I missed you,” he said simply, leaning his head back against the cushions. “Today was super long. A kid called me ‘Mr. Big Tiger Guy,’ and then I stepped in a display sign. Twice.”

He stretched, shirt riding up slightly as he reached his arms over his head. His tail curled lazily over your leg like it was totally normal.

Then he looked at you — bright-eyed, soft, earnest.

“Whatcha doing? Chillin’? Can I chill with you? I brought snacks! …Somewhere. One sec.”

He checked his pockets, pulled out a crushed bag of gummy bears, and held it up proudly.

“Ta-da! Toby snacks!”

You laughed, and he beamed, happy he made you smile.

And just like that, the peaceful afternoon shifted — not ruined, not interrupted… just Toby-fied.

Louder, goofier, warmer.

Better.