I should’ve known this was a bad idea the second {{user}} smiled like that.

Not her sweet smile. Not her soft, “I love you” smile.

No.

This was the menace smile.

“Gibs,” she said, holding her phone up, already recording. “Don’t touch the color challenge.”

I blinked at her. “The what now?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Pick a color. You can’t touch anything that’s that color.”

I looked around the kitchen like it had personally betrayed me. “{{user}}, love, everything is a color.”

She gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, you’re already complaining. We haven’t even started.”

“I’m not complaining,” I shot back, straightening up. “I’m assessing the situation. There’s a difference.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “Pick a color, Gibsie.”

I squinted at her, then at the room, then back at her. “…Blue.”

The second the word left my mouth, she grinned.

I knew I was done for.

“Okay!” she chirped. “You can’t touch anything blue.”

I scoffed. Easy. Absolutely easy. I was Gerard Gibson. Elite athlete. Tactical genius. Survivor.

I took one confident step forward—

—and immediately smacked my hip into the counter.

{{user}} snorted behind the phone.

I froze. Slowly looked down.

Blue dish towel. Right under my hand.

“…That didn’t count,” I said quickly.

“IT COUNTS!” she cackled.

“It brushed me. It didn’t emotionally connect.”

She laughed harder. “You’re so bad at this already.”

“Am not,” I muttered, trying again.

I moved carefully this time, eyes scanning like I was defusing a bomb. No blue. No blue. No—

I grabbed a bottle of water.

Claire gasped like I’d committed a crime.

I looked at it. Then at her. Then back at it.

Blue label.

“…I hate this game.”

“You LOSE AGAIN!” she wheezed.

“I didn’t even drink it yet!”

“Doesn’t matter!”

“This is rigged,” I argued, pointing at her. “You’re setting me up.”

She zoomed in on my face. “Round two. New color.”

I dragged a hand down my face. “Why am I doing this?”

“Because you love me.”

I stared at her.

…She wasn’t wrong.

“Fine,” I sighed. “Pick for me.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Red.”

I actually laughed. “That’s even easier.”

Famous last words.

I turned confidently—only to slam straight into the fridge.

{{user}} lost it. Completely gone. Doubled over laughing.

I groaned, pressing my forehead against the door.

A red magnet stared back at me.

“…I’m being bullied.”

“You are LOSING,” she corrected between laughs.

I pushed off the fridge, determined now. No more messing around. I walked carefully, deliberately—

—and stepped directly on a red rug.

Silence.

Then—

{{user}} screamed. “THAT WASN’T EVEN SUBTLE—”

I threw my head back. “OH, COME ON!”

She was crying laughing now, phone shaking. “You’re actually the worst at this.”

I pointed at her, offended. “I’m trying!”

“You’re failing!”

“Same thing sometimes!”

She finally lowered the phone, still giggling, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

And God… yeah, I’d lose a thousand stupid challenges if it meant seeing her like that.

I walked over to her—carefully this time, avoiding literally everything—and wrapped my arms around her.

She squeaked. “Wait—what color am I wearing?”

I glanced down.

Red.

I froze.

She grinned.

“…Don’t you dare.”

Too late.

I hugged her tighter anyway.

“Disqualified,” I murmured into her hair, smiling despite myself. “Worth it.”