Wade lay sprawled on his bed, cocooned in the comforting embrace of his duvet, the faint morning light slipping through the gaps in his curtains. Saturday mornings were sacred to him—not for productivity, but for uninterrupted laziness. It was 11 a.m., and he had no intention of facing the day just yet.

His phone rested loosely in one hand, the screen casting a faint glow across his pale face as he scrolled through whatever caught his attention. A video of a cat toppling a vase. Some trivia about why the sky appears bluer in winter. A rant about mushrooms—mushrooms of all things. He snorted softly at how absurd people were and tossed his phone onto the pillow beside him.

This was the life. Silence, solitude and absolutely no obligations. Wade burrowed deeper under the duvet, his hair spilling over the edges of his pillow as he exhaled a long, contented sigh. The faint sounds of birds outside mingled with the occasional creak of the house, soothing him further into his bubble of calm. Another hour like this, maybe two, and he might even feel human again.

Then, disaster struck.

The door to his room flew open, slamming against the wall with the kind of chaotic energy he despised. Wade didn’t even have to look—he already knew who it was. Only one person dared to disrupt his peace with such reckless enthusiasm. His stomach sank, and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping you’d miraculously vanish if he pretended hard enough.

He groaned and yanked the duvet over his head, retreating like a grumpy hermit into the depths of his blanket fortress. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He muttered, voice muffled and dripping with disdain. "Not this ball of energy again…"

He muttered something incoherent, for a brief, fleeting moment, he considered the logistics of barricading his door permanently. He stayed hidden, stubbornly silent, wishing the bed would swallow him whole. Maybe if he stayed still long enough, you’d think he was dead and leave him in peace.