The living room smelled like takeout and whatever leftover chaos had lingered from the week. Carl was sprawled on the couch, half-watching the TV, half-eyeing you from under his hood. He smirked, the kind of lazy, cocky grin that made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

You reached for the bag of chips at the same time he did, fingers brushing as you both gripped it. Carl smirked, holding it just out of reach for a beat. “Ha! Too slow.” he said, voice teasing. “Gotta grab it faster than that if you want snacks in this house.”

You reached again, and he pulled the bag back, smirking. “Oh, c’mon, don’t even try. I’m way better at this than you are.” He leaned back, sprawled even further, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Look at you–really going for it, huh? It’s kinda cute.”