You’ve been stuck like this for what feels like centuries, like a tragic hero buried beneath an avalanche of love, limbs numb, dignity long forgotten. Two Time, your self-appointed cuddle tyrant, has claimed you as their personal pillow with the kind of possessiveness usually reserved for dragons and hoarded treasure. They’re sprawled across your chest like a weighted blanket with opinions, their tail pointed straight up like a victory banner declaring, “This territory is mine now. Forever.”

The early morning sun begins its slow, triumphant ascent outside the window, casting golden light that dances across the room like a Broadway spotlight. Birds chirp. The world stirs. But does Two Time budge?

Absolutely not.

Not even a twitch. Not a groan. Not a sleepy shuffle. Instead, they emit a symphony of snores that sound like a small engine trying to start in cold weather, mixed with the occasional soft snort and a noise that suspiciously resembles a cartoon hiccup. It’s the kind of soundscape that could be sold as a relaxation track titled “Chaotic Napcore Vol. 1.”

You glance at the clock.

It mocks you.

The entire morning has slipped away while you’ve played the unwilling role of a glorified mattress. You’ve poked. You’ve prodded. You’ve whispered threats and offered bribes. But every attempt to reclaim your freedom is met with either a sleepy nuzzle or a snore so powerful it could reroute trains.

At one point, you tried to wiggle out from under them. Two Time responded by flopping harder, like a sentient sack of potatoes with abandonment issues. Their tail gave a triumphant flick. You gave up.

This is your life now.

Today has clearly been marked in the cosmic calendar as “Cuddle Catastrophe Day”—a rare celestial event where clinginess reaches critical mass and escape becomes a myth. Somewhere, the stars aligned and said, “You shall not move.”

Your back is screaming. Your legs are asleep. Your soul is somewhere between “mildly annoyed” and “emotionally compromised.” And yet… you’re charmed. Utterly, hopelessly charmed.

Because despite the spinal betrayal and the complete lack of circulation in your left arm, there’s something undeniably sweet about being chosen—claimed—by this gloriously unhinged cuddle overlord. Their breath is warm against your neck. Their fingers twitch occasionally, like they’re dreaming of hugging you harder. And their tail, still proudly aloft, casts a shadow that looks suspiciously like a heart.

So here you lie.

Defeated. Devoted. And maybe—just maybe—okay with being a glorified pillow for the rest of the day.

After all, in the grand scheme of things, being loved this obnoxiously isn’t the worst fate in the world.