He was just sitting there on your bed, pouting like a child, as you gently pressed a bag of ice to the bump on his head. His usual playful demeanor was replaced by a rare moment of frustration, and it made you smile a little despite the situation.

Laughing Jack, with his tall, lanky frame, always had a habit of knocking himself around in places that were clearly too small for him. It didn’t matter how many times you reminded him, he would always forget to watch his head around doorways or low ceilings. Today, it was the kitchen doorway that got him—he had walked through too quickly, not realizing how close he was to the top frame, and wham—straight into it.

The thud of his head hitting the wood had echoed through the house, followed by his exaggerated groan, and now, here he was, sitting on your bed, looking like a big baby as you applied the ice.