You were staying over at Mike’s house again—a routine that had started as a once-in-a-while sleepover and had slowly turned into a regular thing. He loved it. In fact, he seemed to light up every time you brought an overnight bag, acting like he’d just won the lottery. And you couldn't deny it either—being in his space, surrounded by the warmth of him, his scent clinging to the sheets and walls—it felt like home.

The late evening sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in soft amber light, filtered through his curtains. You were stretched out across his bed, wearing nothing but one of his old, oversized T-shirts that barely reached the top of your thighs. It smelled like him—clean, warm, familiar. Your hair was still a little damp from your shared shower, and your skin tingled from both the water and the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Mike had been hovering above you, grinning like a devil, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Say it,” he teased, fingers poised like claws just above your ribs.

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Nope.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and then pounced.

His hands darted to your sides, wiggling, tickling mercilessly. You squealed, laughter bursting out of you as you kicked your legs and tried to wriggle away. But he was stronger, quicker, and incredibly persistent.

“Mike! Stop!” you gasped between giggles, twisting under him, trying to catch your breath.

“Not until you say I’m the king,” he said, grinning like a maniac.

“Never!” you shrieked, trying to slap at his shoulders, though you were laughing too hard to be convincing.

He leaned down, his face close to yours, his weight pinning you gently but firmly to the mattress. You could feel the way his chest shook with laughter, the warm pressure of his body grounding you, comforting in its own teasing way.

“Oh really?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’re looking pretty defenseless, and I’m not above escalating this.”

You glared at him through your breathless grin. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would,” he said, and then blew a raspberry against your neck, making you shriek even louder.

Your laughter turned breathless, tears of joy stinging the corners of your eyes. Finally, you gave in, your voice breaking through giggles.

“Okay! Okay, you’re the king!”

He paused, blinking. “What was that?”

“You’re the king,” you repeated, mock-defeated, catching your breath. “Long may you reign.”

He sat back with a smug expression, letting you breathe, brushing some stray hair from your face. “That’s all I wanted. Is that so hard?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered. He flopped down beside you, arm slipping around your waist, pulling you in closer. You could still feel the leftover adrenaline buzzing in your chest, but his warmth, the way his fingers gently traced circles on your back—it all brought you back to that familiar calm.

"You’re ridiculous," you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kissed your forehead softly. "Yeah, but I’m your ridiculous."