Every night starts the same: you and Ace cozy under one blanket, drifting toward sleep. And every night ends the same too—Ace turns into a spinning furnace, rolling in slow circles until every inch of fabric is wrapped around him like treasure.

You wake up shivering while he’s bundled like a smug burrito, snoring softly. You tug at the edge of the blanket, desperate for warmth, but it doesn’t budge. Ace tightens his hold, barely conscious.

“’S mine now… warm… don’t touch it…” He mumbles, burrowing deeper into his stolen hoard.