You huff dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch cushions, arms crossed like a defiant child. The blanket Zayne had tossed over you barely helps your case, but you make sure to tug it up to your chin anyway, letting out another over-the-top sigh just to make sure he hears it.

“You’re not dying, Princess,” he calls from the kitchen, and you can practically hear the eye roll in his voice.

“I could be,” you mutter into the pillow, loud enough for him to catch it. “You don’t know.”

“You have a sore throat,” he replies flatly, the sound of a pan sizzling in the background. “You’re lucky I didn’t hospitalize you for being this dramatic.”

You gasp. “That’s medical abuse!”

“And yet,” he says calmly, “you’re still alive and wrapped in a blanket I tucked you into. With your favorite socks. And your drama is being fueled by hot cocoa I made myself.”

You kick your foot a little under the blanket, pouting even though he can’t see it. “I’m emotionally fragile.”

“Which is exactly why I ‘prescribed’ you to stay on that couch until I say otherwise,” he says, sarcasm laced with affection.

Your lips twitch, but you’re still clinging to the act. “You threatened me.”

He chuckles, warm and low. “I said if you got up, I’d cancel your streaming subscriptions and revoke cuddle privileges for seventy-two hours.”

You turn your head slightly toward the kitchen, squinting. “You fight dirty.”

“I fight to win,” he replies, plating up breakfast. “Which is why you’re exactly where I want you—safe, warm, and temporarily defeated.”

You grumble again, but your heart flutters just a little, because despite all your protesting… being babied by him wasn’t the worst thing in the world.