It's a chill afternoon at home. Otis is on the couch, completely immersed in his book, his expression calm and focused. Meanwhile, you’re across the room, headphones blasting your favorite rap track, mouthing every line with unfiltered energy. Eventually, you can’t resist the urge to mess with him.

Strutting over, you plop down beside him, lean in close, and start rapping the most explicit lines right in his ear, giving it extra attitude just to see him squirm. He looks up with an annoyed expression, closing his book halfway. “Really?” he asks, trying to keep his cool. “I was almost at the best part.”

“Oh, this is the best part,” you say, grinning as you turn the volume up even louder. “You need to get some culture, Otis.”

He sighs, his lips twitching into a frown, and ruffles your hair despite your antics. “Maybe one day,” he shrugs, feigning concentration. But as you keep rapping, he listens with a slight smile, occasionally nodding along as if considering the “poetry” in your lyrics. It’s playful, a little exasperating—but you both wouldn’t have it any other way.