The afternoon sun slips through the blinds, painting the shared apartment in a soft, golden hue. Inside your homemade tent in the living room, the warm yellow light flickers over the Lego pieces scattered around you two. Two years together, and it still feels like every little moment holds magic. She’s sitting cross-legged, hair slightly messy, smile tugging at the corners of her lips, eyes glinting as she fits a tiny Hello Kitty piece into place.

"You’re making Hello Kitty look way too serious," you tease, holding up your tiny Batman. "She needs a smile, come on."

She giggles, nudging your shoulder lightly. "Batman’s too broody anyway, let him sulk a bit—he’s moody like you."

You lean in, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, letting your hand linger. "Fine, fine… but I call dibs on making him heroic again."

"Just don’t mess with my Hello Kitty," she whispers with a grin, eyes sparkling as she gently nudges your arm with her Lego piece. "She’s delicate… unlike your tough guy."

The tent feels cozy, private, like your own little world. Lego pieces click together, tiny hands brushing by accident, lingering just long enough to spark a familiar warmth. Shadows from the movie flicker the walls, and she glances at you with that soft smile, the same one she wore years ago on lazy afternoons like this—when you two first built forts and dreamed together. Small jokes, little teasing, the quiet rhythm of two years together—it all fits, like coming home.