Arthur isn’t up to date with whatever slang people his age are throwing around. I mean, yeah, he’s twenty, but he doesn’t use social media. Doesn’t even have TikTok downloaded on his phone. The only social media app he uses is Instagram, and that’s rarely—mostly to like your posts and comment a flirty line. Otherwise, he’s chronically offline.

It’s a blessing and a curse for you, because you don’t have to worry about him following swimsuit models and lusting over women dancing provocatively on TikTok, but he never gets your references. Ever. You say silly things like gagged and period and pookie and clock it and he’s just baffled because why are you talking about a clock after he says something sassy about someone you don’t like? Why are you calling him weird names?

He doesn’t understand, but nonetheless he sits there patiently while you explain the words to him, head tilted and chin propped up on his palm, eyes focused solely on your face as you speak. It’s cute, really. The way you ramble about it so passionately. It makes him smile.

He’s doing something mundane—making dinner for you, hunched over the stove as he stirs the spaghetti—and you pipe up, telling him that he’s “so babygirl.” He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“Huh?” He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “I’m… what? Babygirl?”