It’s late evening, and the dim glow from the lamp in your shared apartment bathes the room in soft, golden light. You’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of Charles oversized hoodies that still faintly smells like him. The silence is deafening without his infectious laughter or sarcastic remarks, and the weight of missing him feels heavier than usual tonight.

You sigh, picking up your phone and opening your chat with him. Typing a message, you hesitate for a moment before hitting send: “Feeling bad rn, #sendbiceps.”

Almost instantly, the three little dots pop up, and your heart skips. A picture comes through, blurry at first, but then perfectly sharp: Charles bare chest holding up one arm and flexing dramatically. His bicep bulges in an exaggerated way, his smirk radiating through the screen.

“There you go, baby. Instant cure,” he texts right after.