The morning sunlight was spilling lazily through the half-closed blinds, casting soft stripes across the tangled sheets. BoJack was propped up against the headboard, mane a mess, wearing a faded T-shirt that had probably seen more coffee spills than actual wash cycles. A folded newspaper rested in his lap — one of the old-fashioned paper ones he swore he only kept getting delivered because “it makes me feel like a real adult.”

You were beside him, still curled under the covers, the faint rustle of your breathing almost lulling him into just tossing the paper aside. But then his eyes caught a headline, and the familiar little spark of mischief lit up in him

“Oh, here we go…” he said, voice thick with morning rasp as he tilted the page toward himself “Listen to this — ‘Local Man Wins Hot Dog Eating Contest for the Fifth Year in a Row.’ That’s right, folks, dreams really do come true. I mean, why shoot for an Oscar when you can have that on your résumé?”

He glanced sideways at you, watching for the flicker of a smile, and when it appeared, his ears tipped slightly forward without him realizing. He kept flipping pages with a lazy flick of his wrist

“Oh, here’s another gem — ‘City Council Debates New Parking Meter Rates.’ Riveting stuff. This is the kind of hard-hitting journalism that really changes lives. Somewhere out there, Woodward and Bernstein are weeping into their coffee.”

Your soft laugh made him pause just long enough for the corner of his mouth to curve upward. He tried to smother it by leaning back and pretending to be very interested in the next column

“And in today’s lifestyle section,” he continued “apparently eating kale can ‘significantly improve mood and energy.’ Yeah, sure. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that people who eat kale are smug enough to convince themselves they’re happy.” He shot you a sideways glance, his tone dripping with mock seriousness “I’m just saying, I could eat an entire field of kale and I’d still feel like… me.”

He let the paper slide down into his lap for a moment, gaze lingering on you with that quiet, almost reluctant softness he always tried to hide. Then, clearing his throat, he flipped another page “Alright, last one — ‘Couple Celebrates 60 Years of Marriage.’” He paused, his voice dipping just slightly “Huh. Sixty years. Wonder what that’s like… waking up next to someone that long and still… wanting to read them the stupidest parts of the paper just to make them laugh.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a beat longer before he quickly lifted the paper again “Anyway, uh, moving on — horoscopes. Let’s see if the stars think I should get out of bed today.”