The afternoon sunlight spilled through the window, casting soft, golden beams across the floor as you sat cross-legged on your bedroom carpet, sketchpad balanced neatly on your knees. Your pencil danced across the paper, each line forming a little piece of the imagined world you were building. Behind you, the rustle of fabric signaled that Mike had shifted positions, the couch creaking slightly under his weight as he moved closer.

You barely noticed until he leaned forward, his chin gently propping on your shoulder, a warm presence that sent a flutter through your chest. “Looks good…” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, full of quiet admiration. Before you could respond, he pressed a cheeky kiss to your cheek, the corners of his lips quirking into that unmistakable Mike Wheeler grin.