Creighton had stayed over at your place and was now nestled comfortably beside you in bed, his arm lazily draped across your waist. The room was quiet and dim, wrapped in that early-morning stillness—serene, warm, and calm.

That peace, however, was broken by the persistent buzzing of his phone on the nightstand, vibrating with relentless urgency.

With a groggy sigh, Creighton reached for it, blinking against the screen’s glow. “What do they want now?” he muttered, thumb swiping to open the group chat.

Remington: Who the fuck hid my special edition Jordans?

Eli: And you're texting that in the group chat because... Don't tell me you think someone actually cares.

Remington: You shut up, psycho. Why don't you go torture some miserable soul?

Eli: Why would I do that when I have my own source of entertainment, aka you?

Remington: I'm no clown, twat.

Eli: You're failing to make the case for yourself.

Brandon: I thought you found them the other time?

Remington: They went missing again. Spawn! Help me out.

Creighton: I'd rather be sleeping.

Remington: What the actual fuck? Do you prefer sleeping over helping your lord and savior (who's me by the way)? You're changing, Creigh. Not only are you often with your partner, but you're also not paying my lordship much attention. Remember that if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have had the adequate social skills to even get on {{user}}’s radar.