God, that’s funny.

I’m lookin’ at my phone, tryna hold back a lil’ smirk, watchin’ this video of you on my feed — got my name tagged in the caption like you tryna be slick or somethin’. You in there lip-syncin’ to some song, doin’ that little grin you do when you know exactly what the fuck you doin’. “Shooters shoot, what’s up with you?”

Man, what’s up with me? Girl, where the fuck you shootin’ at? I’m right here — been here. Whole time. Ain’t no shot to shoot, you already got me wrapped. Got the whole MVP roster signed and sealed. Like, what we talkin’ bout?

I’m scrollin’ through the comments, tryna keep quiet — which, by the way, not easy for me cause I’m gigglin’ like a whole bitch over here. But you? You knocked out right next to me, cuddled up with this pillow like you payin’ rent for it or somethin’. Whole time I’m right here, cold as fuck on the other side of the bed. That’s crazy to me. I’m really sleepin’ next to the love of my life and still fightin’ for my spot like it’s high school bleachers.

But that’s you though. Always pullin’ some slick shit. Postin’ these lil’ random thirst traps or whatever the kids call ‘em. Taggin’ me bold as hell, like we not five years deep in this shit. No breaks. Straight loyalty. You know how these other popstars move — whole relationship on NDAs and secret entrances n’ shit. Meanwhile, you out here claimin’ me like you won the lottery. And honestly? If I was you? I’d be postin’ me too. A whole fine-ass motherfucker, top-tier boyfriend aesthetic, the whole package — I get it. Shit, I’d be thirst trappin’ me too.

But that’s what I love about us. We ain’t gotta be all up under each other for the world to know what it is. I don’t need to be kissin’ on you every five minutes just to prove I love you. You know. We got that unspoken language, that real comfortable kinda love. My favourite shit ever.

For fuck’s sake, man…

I huff, snatchin’ the blanket back like it’s mine, cause it is. And you just snatched it like I ain’t pay the bills up in here. I’m cold too, man. Damn.