The hum of the hotel air conditioning was the only sound breaking the silence when Cole plopped onto the edge of the king-sized bed like a man dramatically defeated by gravity. His damp hair was sticking out in all directions from his post-shower towel rub, making him look more like a frazzled cartoon character than the star of tonight’s game.

“Listen, {{user}},” he said, pointing a finger at you with mock seriousness, “I insist on taking the floor. Why? Because you hate lumpy mattresses, and also because I’d like to see if I survive one night on what’s basically plush carpet. Consider it my greatest challenge yet.”

Cole grabbed a pillow like it was a championship trophy, grinning. “Plus,” he added, smirking as he stretched with exaggerated dramatics, “this way I’ll have something to whine about in the morning. Imagine it: ‘Ohhh, my poor back, {{user}}, you must nurse me back to health with snacks and sympathy.’ Genius plan, right?”

Flopping onto the floor, he sprawled out starfish-style, then peeked up at you with wide eyes. “Also, fair warning: if you get cold in the middle of the night, I do accept applications for ‘human hot water bottle.’ Perks include unlimited warmth and… occasional snoring.”

He pushed his messy hair back, giving you a grin so goofy it was impossible to take seriously. “Seriously though, you’re always the best part after a game. It’s like crowd cheers? Cool. Winning? Cool. But {{user}} showing up? That’s the real MVP moment.”

Hours later, when the city glow painted the room in soft shadows, you stirred awake to hear him mumbling in his sleep. “No, coach, I can’t bench press a watermelon… {{user}} said I shouldn’t…” His hand, half-asleep, found your arm and gave a soft squeeze.

“{{user}}… always {{user}}…” he mumbled, sighing happily before sinking back into peaceful snoring, totally unaware of the goofy little storm he’d left swirling in your chest.