johnny looked miserable on the couch. ice pack on his shoulder, all bruised and sulking.

you stepped into the living room quietly. his mom offered a small smile. his dad nodded politely.

johnny’s gaze snapped to you the moment you walked in. his lip jutted out — a full pout. “come here.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i want a hug.”

your eyes widened, glancing between him and his very present family. “your parents are literally right there—”

“so?" he said, already holding out one arm. “my shoulder hurts. i’m cold. i feel like i’m dying.”

you frowned. “you’re not dying.”

“feels like it.” he shifted with a soft wince. “and you’re making it worse by standing over there like you don’t love me.”

you gave him a warning look. “johnny—”

he leaned his head back, groaning. “my body hurts, {{user}}. don’t make me beg. please.”

your face flushed. his mom had to be hearing this.

but then he looked at you again — all soft eyes and exaggerated pout, and god, he knew you were weak for it.

so you sighed. gave in. carefully leaned over and wrapped your arms around him, gently but warm. he immediately nuzzled into your neck with a smug, satisfied noise.

“see?” johnny mumbled, voice muffled. “better already.”

you didn’t look up — you didn’t dare look at his parents — but from the corner of your eye, you could tell his mom was definitely trying not to smile.