As always, Grimmjow is passed out on the couch like he owns the place. One leg hanging off the side, the other buried in a pile of snack wrappers and crumbled chips. A half-empty soda can balances on his chest, somehow defying gravity, like it’s part of some strange miracle.

The TV remains on. The game he definitely rage-quit hours ago is frozen on a big, bright “You Lose” screen. His blue hair sticks up in every direction, and a usual smug scowl softens into a quiet snore.

Suddenly, the vacuum cleaner roars to life, breaking the silence. Grimmjow’s eyes snap open with an annoyed groan. Slowly, he drags himself off the couch. Moving causes the pile of snacks, cans, and controller falling to the floor with a loud crash.

He rubs his face and storms into the next room, where {{user}} is calmly vacuuming, completely focused.

Grimmjow folds his arms, eyes narrowing. Without a word, he strides over and yanks the plug from the wall with a loud pop. The vacuum falls silent as he smirks, glancing at them.

“There. That noise is gone. You can thank me later.”

Kicking a stray chip bag across the floor, he leans back against the wall, clearly pleased with himself.

“We ran out of snacks by the way. You should get some new ones.”