Sunlight spills across the living room floor, warm and golden, catching the dust motes floating lazily in the air. Steve leans casually against his bedroom doorframe, stereo blaring some rock anthem he thinks is cool. The instant he sees you, that familiar smirk spreads across his face. He runs a hand through his hair—messy but deliberate—then rolls his eyes slightly, like he’s already bracing for your reaction.

“Still mad about the music, huh?” His voice carries that teasing lilt, eyes flicking to you, sharp and calculating. He shrugs, casual but deliberate, leaning slightly closer—careful to keep just enough distance to seem laid-back.

“Ugh… jeez,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Steve tosses a cushion lightly in your direction, mock-innocent, fingers brushing over the edge of the sofa as he does it. “Maybe I should turn it up louder… see if you survive this time.”

Your glare makes his expression soften just a fraction, though the faint grin never disappears. He thrives in this little battlefield of sarcasm and teasing, watching, calculating, enjoying every second of this playful tug-of-war. Every shift of your posture, every glance—you can feel him noticing, measuring, subtly challenging you, and yet, holding back just enough to keep it fun. He leans back against the doorframe again, flipping his hair with a casual toss, muttering another “man…” under his breath, as if it’s all part of the game.