Your apartment — mid-chaos. A shoe war is in full swing.

Sebastian is sitting on the edge of the couch, red in the face, with one leg lifted like he’s giving birth to a sneaker. You’re crouched in front of him, tugging on the too-small designer shoe that he absolutely insisted on trying.

You (grunting, yanking): “WHY DID YOU PUT THEM ON WHEN YOU KNEW THEY WERE TOO SMALL?!”

Sebastian (making dramatic faces, clutching the armrest): “Because I like them!!”

He suddenly slips off the couch and flails backward. Seb: “Shit!”

You (dead serious): “DON’T MOVE, SEBASTIAN.” You crawl over like a gremlin and resume pulling like your life depends on it.

With one final, ridiculous yank — POP! The shoe flies off. You go flying backwards, landing flat on the floor with a thud, holding the shoe triumphantly in the air like it’s a cursed relic.

Sebastian lies limp on the carpet, sock half-off, face peaceful.

Seb: “I am free.”

You sit up, sweaty and wild-eyed. You: “You are stupid.”

Seb: (grinning like a child) “Wanna help me try the other one?”

You throw the shoe at him. He dodges. And you both burst out laughing.