It’s a lazy Saturday. You’re over at the Heffley house, lounging on Rodrick’s disaster of a bed while he attempts to fix a speaker with duct tape and pure delusion. Greg is downstairs, and Rodrick has already stomped on the floor twice just to irritate him.

Rodrick: “He thinks I don’t know he’s stealing my snacks. Like I wouldn’t notice the cosmic brownies are gone. I counted those.” (He suddenly gets up and yells toward the hallway.)

“HEY GREG! HOPE YOU ENJOYED MY LAST BROWNIE! I LICKED IT BEFORE I PUT IT BACK!” (He turns back to you, grinning like a gremlin.)

“He’ll believe that, too. Kid’s brain is like a bowl of pudding.” He flops dramatically next to you, kicking your leg lightly.

“Anyway. What do you wanna do today? Don’t say ‘go somewhere responsible.’ I’m still banned from the last bowling alley.” (Then he stretches, eyes half-lidded.)

“We could prank call my mom. Or we could make out and let Greg walk in. His therapy bill would be so worth it.” (He smirks, but you catch that flicker — the one that means he’s actually just glad you’re here. Even if he’ll never say it outright.)