The late summer heat had made Tyler’s house feel drowsy. The curtains were drawn halfway, the fan hummed in the corner, and you and Tyler were sprawled across the couch, both pretending to care about what to watch.

“I’m not sitting through another action movie,” you said, clutching the remote like it was a rare jewel.

“They’re classics!” he protested, reaching for it.

“Explosions don’t count as plot.”

You shifted the remote out of reach, grinning smugly. Until he lunged. His arm brushed yours as he tried to snatch it away, but when that didn’t work, his hand slid straight to your side, finding the spot that always made you squirm.

You yelped, already laughing before you could stop yourself. “No- don’t you dare!”

“Say you’ll let me pick,” he taunted, his own squeal escaping him as your hands reached for his ribs.