You hold up the bright blue Sonic costume with both hands like it’s some kind of divine artifact, eyes glittering with mischievous triumph. The polyester practically shimmers under the kitchen light, complete with oversized white gloves and a puffy foam headpiece.

Pietro stares at it like you’ve just handed him a live grenade.

“I—what—what is that?” he asks, backing up half a step, towel still draped over his shoulder from his post-shower sprint.

You beam. “Your Halloween costume.”

He squints. “That’s not a costume. That’s a war crime.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re fast.”

“Yes,” he says slowly, warily.

You tilt your head, grin growing. “So… Sonic the Hedgehog. It’s fitting.”

His mouth opens, closes. “I’m not a blue cartoon rat with chili dog problems, prints on the soles of his shoes, and an obsession with golden rings.”

You toss the costume at his chest. “He’s not a rat, he’s a hedgehog. And you’re wearing it.”

Pietro catches it in reflex, scowling like it’s made of poison. “You know I love you, right?”

You nod sweetly. “Good. Then you’ll put it on.”

“Nope.” He turns on his heel.