Riley’s been seeing you way out of control. It’s almost like you’re worse than him and that speaks volumes he can’t comprehend.

Riley’s sitting on the sofa, pressing mindlessly at the buttons. When he unsurprisingly loses, he groans. The thing that takes his attention away from his sore losing is the sound of you tapping away at your phone.

Riley glances over your shoulder, his eyes widening into dinner plates. “Who’s you textin’?” He questions, his voice almost a squeal.