"Practice with you?" Lucas repeats, brows furrowed as he leans further against the chair he's sitting backwards on.

"I gave you that thing," he deadpans, pointing to the wobbly dummy withering on the floor, "won't it suffice?"

Silence.

He's met with your pleading, glassy-eyed expression. Grimacing at the sight of your frustrated tears nearly coming forth, he stands.

"Alright, fine, I'll do it. Be grateful that I'm even considering it," he huffs.