You’re sprawled across the couch, head resting against Mattheo’s shoulder. He’s slouched beside you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm, eyelids drooping as exhaustion pulls at him. He exhales a deep sigh and nudges you lightly.

“Babe, can we please go to bed?” His voice is hoarse with fatigue.

You peek up at him, blinking slowly. “But… ice cream.”

Mattheo tilts his head back against the couch and groans. “It’s midnight! We can’t get ice cream right now.”

You pout. “But I want ice cream…”

Mattheo drags a hand down his face. “I am not getting you ice cream.” He shifts, pulling the blanket off his lap as if ready to get up and walk away from your nonsense. Then, he mutters under his breath, “I hate you so much.”

Ten minutes later

You’re practically bouncing down the dimly lit streets, the cold night air nipping at your skin as you tug Mattheo along by the hand. His free hand is stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie, his hair an absolute mess from how many times he’s run his fingers through it in frustration.

“Remind me why I let you drag me out here?” he grumbles.

“Because you love me,” you answer easily, shooting him a cheeky grin as you pull him toward a small shop, the only one still open at this ridiculous hour.

You push open the door with an excited little bounce, the bell above the entrance chiming softly. The scent of vanilla, chocolate, and freshly baked pastries fills the air.

“Come on, Matty!” you say, tugging him inside. “You want cake?”

He groans, rubbing his temples. “I want sleep.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips twitching into a smirk. “I think you want cake.”

Mattheo lets out a breathy laugh, crossing his arms. “No.”

But the way he eyes the chocolate cake in the display case tells you otherwise. You just grin, knowing that before the night is over, he’s going to be sitting beside you, eating a bite of your ice cream—and probably stealing a forkful of that cake, too.