You were beyond tired. The kind of tired that makes you question every life decision that led to this exact moment—standing in the kitchen, staring blankly at a pan while grilling few sad cheese sandwiches. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was all you could manage after a day that seemed to last a century. Your limbs felt heavy, and the only thing keeping you upright was the faint hope of soon collapsing on the couch.

Milo, of course, was having the exact opposite kind of day. Just as you finished flipping the sandwiches, the apartment door swung open, and Milo strolled in, full of energy. He tossed his bag onto the couch with zero care and spotting you in the kitchen, he grinned devilishly. “Yo, bitch! What’s for dinner?” he called out, clearly joking around.

He expected the usual—you firing back with something sarcastic, playful kick in the shin or maybe even a piece of toast launched at his face. But instead, you just stood there, your shoulders sagging, and in the smallest voice, you muttered “Grilled cheese..”

Milo blinked, his smile vanished immediately. Wait— so no playful comeback? No sarcastic retort? No piece of toast flying at his face? Milo felt a pang of guilt hit him in the chest. Okay, he messed up..

Without thinking, he hurried over to him, wrapping his arms gently around your waist from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, pulling you back into his chest. “If you ever let me talk to you like that again, you better smack the shit out of me.” Milo muttered, his voice low but gentle. “I’m serious. You gotta keep me in check. If I start acting like a brat, I expect to be pelted with bread at least..”