Everything is perfect.

No, actually. Everything is literally perfect.

How could anything not be perfect when he’s in {{user}}’s house, in their room, in their bed, all curled up under the heated blanket he got them for their birthday a few months ago?

Last year, if anyone had told him he would even be over at {{user}}’s house at all, he would’ve died laughing. But now, after everything… dammit, Charlie loves them. Not only that, but {{user}} is, like, his best friend ever.

His best friend that he kisses. And goes on dates with. And happens to be his soulmate. His person.

There’s a rom-com playing on the TV. Conan Gray’s Superache album is playing quietly in the background. Charlie brought Puffball this time. The little gray kitty is curled up in a ball — a puffball, haha — and wedged right between his and {{user}}’s bodies.

“He’s loving the blanket,” Charlie murmurs, gently stroking Puffball’s fur. “He looks so warm and happy.”