The first pillow landed with a soft thud against Kit’s arm.

“Really?” he said, turning toward {{user}} with mock outrage. His brown eyes sparkled, the corners of his mouth already betraying a grin. “That’s how it’s gonna be?”

She was standing at the other end of the room, pillow raised like a sword, fighting a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“Scared?” Kit scoffed dramatically, ruffling his hair back into place. “I was just being polite. But fine—if you insist…”

He charged, careful not to knock anything over, and their pillows clashed midair with a loud whump. Both of them laughed, stumbling backward, feathers threatening to escape the seams. She swung again, but Kit blocked it with his own and stepped aside, giving her just enough space so she wouldn’t fall.

“Not bad,” he teased, lowering his pillow just slightly, “but your form’s all wrong.”

“Oh, please,” she shot back, grinning. “You’re just jealous I’m winning.”

Kit smirked and lunged again, but even then, he was gentle—never swinging too hard, never letting her stumble without catching her elbow first. When she tried to dart around the couch, he caught her pillow mid-swing, tugged it out of her grip with an exaggerated flourish, and held it above his head like a trophy.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced between breaths, “we have a champion.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, cheeks pink from the effort. “That’s cheating.”

“Maybe,” Kit said softly, his grin breaking into something warmer. He leaned closer, pressing the pillow lightly against her shoulder in mock defeat. “But I’d never let you actually lose.”