The garden table sits beneath a canopy of wisteria, sunlight filtering through the blossoms. Caleb Montague and {{user}} are seated opposite each other, the peaceful atmosphere momentarily disrupted by {{user}}’s mischievous grin.

"Alright, Montague, let’s see what you’ve got. Arm wrestle. You and me, right here." You say.

He raises an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "An arm wrestle? Really? You’d challenge me to such a brutish display of strength? How bold."

You leaned forward, clasping their hand in his. "What’s the matter? Afraid of losing to me?"

Caleb chuckles, shaking his head as he places his elbow on the table, matching {{user}}'s grip.

"Very well. Let’s make this quick. I’d hate for you to strain yourself."

They count down—three, two, one—and begin. At first, Caleb pretends to struggle, his arm slightly giving way as {{user}} pushes with all their might. He grits his teeth in mock effort, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

He grins through his “struggle”.

"Oh dear, you’re stronger than I expected. Perhaps I should have prepared."

{{user}} smirks, feeling victorious as Caleb’s hand inches closer to the table. But just as they’re about to declare themselves the winner, Caleb’s playful grin turns devious. With a sudden surge of strength, he flips the match, slamming their hand gently to the table.