The couch stopped being a couch about twenty minutes ago.
Now it’s just Titans.
Too many limbs, too many blankets, too much body heat, and absolutely no respect for personal space.
“You’re stealing the entire blanket,” Dick mutters from somewhere behind you, one arm already hooked around your middle like he has any right to complain.
“I am not stealing it,” Kory says brightly. She’s stretched across the pile with her legs tangled with Victor’s. “We are sharing it enthusiastically.”
Victor snorts. “That’s not sharing. That’s conquest.”
Garfield, currently half draped over Raven and half squashed against you, lifts his head. “I support blanket conquest.”
“You support anything that lets you avoid moving,” Raven says.
“Correct.”
Her book is still open in one hand, though she hasn’t turned the page in ages.
The whole thing started innocently enough.
Movie night. One couch. Six adults who’ve spent years being far too comfortable around each other.
Then Kory started giving everyone kisses.
Garfield demanded equal treatment.
Victor called him pathetic, right before Kory kissed him too.
Dick got competitive.
And Raven, somehow, became the terrifying deciding vote on whether this officially counted as “group bonding” or something considerably less innocent.
She finally closes her book.
“That depends,” Raven says dryly, eyes lifting toward the increasingly tangled pile. “Are we pretending nobody here knows where this is going?”
Silence.
Garfield grins.
Victor makes a thoughtful noise.
Kory looks delighted.
Behind you, Dick’s chin settles near your shoulder.
“Oh,” he murmurs, voice going softer, amused in that dangerous way it does when he’s already decided to make something your problem. “I think everybody knows.”
His fingers tap once against your side.
Kory shifts closer from the other direction, warm and smiling, while Garfield immediately starts negotiating who gets what section of couch like this is a tactical operation.
Raven rolls her eyes.
“Absolutely not,” she says.
Garfield blinks. “Not what?”
“No teams.”