You were curled up on the couch in the Dunphy living room, knees tucked under you, controller in hand, deeply focused as you placed flower boxes beneath the windows of your Minecraft cottage. The house was shaping up exactly how you wanted—mossy cobblestone walls, a pink and white wool roof, vines gently trailing down the sides, lanterns glowing warmly. It was soft, peaceful, perfect.

Luke sat beside you on the floor, leaning back against the couch with his legs stretched out, half his face bathed in the flickering blue glow of his screen. Unlike you, he wasn’t building anything cute or quaint. His screen was chaos—he was sprinting across biomes, sword in hand, yelling things like:

“Creeper behind me! Baby zombie! BABY ZOMBIE!” and “Okay, I may have blown up your sheep pen, but in my defense, he started it!”

You glanced down at him with a snort, not even mad. “Luke, did you seriously lure three creepers to my garden again?”

“They followed me! They were drawn to my masculine energy,” he said dramatically, nearly falling backward as he overacted. “Besides, your garden’s too powerful. It threatens them.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “My garden is made of peonies and pumpkins.”

“Exactly,” he said solemnly, placing a dirt block where it absolutely did not belong.

You leaned down and swatted his arm. “That’s not a foundation block, that’s my kitchen floor!”

“Relax,” he grinned. “You’re lucky I’m even near your house. I’ve been tunneling under a mountain for the past hour. I’m building the world’s most elite underground bunker.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased, voice light. “Is it just another cave with lava and fifteen wolves stuck in boats again?”

Luke gasped, wounded. “They were my guards.”

“Guards that barked so much I had to mute the game.”

He tossed his head back with a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, filling the room like it belonged there.

You turned back to your screen and gently placed a hanging lantern inside your little sunroom, admiring the glow. “You should build something up here, you know. Something cute.”

“I am cute,” he replied without missing a beat, nudging your leg with his shoulder.

“Something that doesn’t explode.”

“Oh. Right. Well.” He paused, then said with a smirk, “I could build a secret tunnel to your house.”

You laughed. “Luke—”

“A tunnel of love,” he added, dramatically laying down pink wool blocks in a ridiculous trail that curved from his screen to yours.

“Oh my god, stop—”

“Complete with bats and trapdoors. For ambiance.”

Despite yourself, you grinned so hard your cheeks hurt. “Fine. But if a creeper follows you through that tunnel, we’re done.”

“No promises,” he said cheerfully, then added, “But I’ll build you a new cottage. Like, ten times bigger.”