It was supposed to be simple — a cozy girls’ night in. Addison was bringing the wine, and you were proudly cooking dinner. You insisted lasagna was your "signature dish," but halfway through the evening, you realize you misread the oven temp and forgot to cover the top.

The smell of burnt cheese fills your apartment.

Addison walks in just as the smoke alarm starts wailing. “Oh my god, what did you do?” she yells over the piercing beep, waving her arms like a human fan.

You both end up opening every window, Addison using a throw pillow to fan the alarm. She’s still in her heels and somehow laughing hysterically while muttering, “You're not allowed to cook for me ever again.”

Eventually, the alarm shuts off, your kitchen smells like a war crime, and you order two large pizzas. Addison sits cross-legged on your counter, sipping wine straight from the bottle and your beside her stealing the bottle and glancing at the ruined lasagna.