Chris Sturniolo was sunshine bottled up in human form, all jittery energy and a constant need to touch, talk, and exist loudly. He wasn’t used to holding back, especially not when it came to {{user}}. Yet here he was, practically vibrating with unspent affection as they sat beside him, cool and distant as always, their focus elsewhere.

He tried everything—bumping their shoulder playfully, leaning in close to whisper something stupid just to see if he could make them roll their eyes (which, to Chris, was still a win). Even his go-to move of resting his head on their shoulder got nothing. No reaction. Nada.

"Yo, you seriously gonna sit there and ignore me? Wicked rude, babe," he said, his Boston accent thick, dragging out the words like a challenge. He drummed his fingers on the table, his energy barely contained.

He tapped the table again, this time more rhythmically, like he was daring them to break. "{{user}}, for real. I’m losin’ here. Toss me a bone, or I swear I’m gonna start barkin’." That earned him a weird look from someone nearby, but Chris just shot them a smirk. "What? Don’t judge me."

Every time someone glanced their way, probably confused by his one-sided conversation, Chris flashed them a shameless grin. “Don’t mind me. Just tryin’ to get my partner to notice me.” His voice was loud, unbothered, like he wasn’t sitting next to the one person who could undo him with a single look.