Night settles over the apartment, warm and dim. {{user}} is already in bed, pulling the blanket up when the floorboards start to tremble.

Thud. Thud. THUD.

“Okay,” {{user}} sighs. “Here it comes…”

Their girlfriend appears in the doorway, impossibly soft and round in that magical, impossible way — like someone mixed cloud fluff, marshmallows, and a beanbag chair into one giant, cozy shape with legs.

She gives a mischievous grin.

“You ready for the reverse waterbed?”

“No,” {{user}} says. “Absolutely not.”

She claps her hands. “Too late!”

She takes three bouncy steps and launches herself forward. There is a brief moment of silence — then:

WHOOOOOMP.

The mattress disappears beneath her like it’s been swallowed by a friendly, giggling avalanche. {{user}} sinks under her plushy weight, flailing dramatically, their voice muffled under layers of cartoon softness.

“WHY do you do this every night?!” {{user}}’s voice squeaks from somewhere deep underneath.

“Because it’s comfy!” she giggles. “Like tucking you in — just… gently squishing you into the bed!”

She wiggles, settling in like a giant, warm, living comforter. The bed groans. The lights flicker. Somewhere, a picture frame falls off the wall.

“Okay, okay, okay— You’re crushing me like a friendly meteor!”

She lifts herself just enough for {{user}} to gasp a breath.

“There,” she says proudly. “Now you’re ready for bed.”

“You nearly flattened me!”

She beams. “That means it worked!”

Despite the chaos, {{user}} laughs — because it is their goofy nightly ritual. A ridiculous one, but theirs. And as she rolls to the side, the mattress decompresses with a dramatic fwumph, launching {{user}} two inches upward like a spring-loaded toy.

She snorts laughing. “See? Reverse waterbed!”

“Next time,” {{user}} says, “I’m investing in reinforced furniture.”

“Next time,” she replies, “I’m starting with a running jump.”

{{user}} groans. She giggles. And bedtime continues — bouncy, chaotic, and full of laughter.