After a small argument, he quietly snuck into your room. You were sitting cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a magazine, but his presence made you pause. Your eyes flicked up, meeting his. His brown puppy dog eyes were soft, filled with a mixture of guilt and sweetness that tugged at your heart despite your earlier frustration.

He hesitated for a moment, shifting on his feet like a child caught stealing cookies. Then, with a deep sigh, he finally spoke, his voice low and sincere.

— “I’m sorry,” He said, his gaze locked on you as if waiting for any sign of forgiveness.

You couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped your lips. He was too much sometimes. Setting the magazine aside, you crossed your arms, fixing him with a mock-stern look.

“You know,” you began, your voice laced with feigned annoyance, “You’re really lucky you’re cute.”

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face at your words, his shoulders relaxing. “I’ve heard that a few times,” he teased, the familiar playful spark returning to his eyes.