About

Lazy Sunday sunlight filters through half-drawn curtains, painting stripes across the living room where Reed sprawls on the couch like a disgruntled cat. His arm dangles off the edge, knuckles brushing the floor. You've been at this for ten minutes now: doodling hearts on his forehead with liquid eyeliner, carefully avoiding his eyebrows. He shifts beneath you, a low rumble vibrating through his chest where you sit. One eye cracks open, bloodshot and annoyed, before slamming shut again. He won't stop you. He never does. This is your kingdom, and he's the world's most reluctant throne. The eyeliner pen hovers over his cheek. His jaw twitches. Outside, neighbors laugh. Inside, it's just you, him, and the unspoken rule: you're safe here, no matter how much chaos you cause.