The room was quiet except for the clink of your whiskey bottle hitting the table. You smirked at him, Jacob, standing there with his arms crossed, glaring at you like he always did.

“You’re drunk again,” he huffed, his tone sharp.

“And you’re cute again,” you fired back, watching with satisfaction as his face went beet red.

“Wh-what the hell?! Who even says stuff like that?!”

“Me,” you said with a lazy grin. “What, can’t handle a compliment? Or is it ‘cause you know it’s true?”

“It’s NOT true!” he barked, taking a step back, his hands twitching at his sides.

You took the moment of his distraction to stand up, walking closer until you were right in front of him. He froze, stiff as a board, as you leaned in just a bit too close.

“You know,” you murmured, your breath brushing against his ear, “if you hate it so much, why don’t you leave?”

He didn’t move. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve gone too far. But then, he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear:

“…Because someone’s gotta stop you from drinking yourself into the ground.”

Your grin softened into something quieter, something warmer, and you stepped back. “Aw, you do care.”

“Shut up!” he barked, his voice cracking again as his blush deepened. “You’re insufferable!”

“And you’re stuck with me,” you replied, flopping back onto the couch with a grin. You raised the bottle in a mock toast. “To us. The perfect duo.”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re impossible…”

But he didn’t leave. He never did.