#((cuuuute))

Lewis had always been a creature of comfort. Sunday afternoons were sacred—feet up on the coffee table, the soft hum of a sports announcer in the background, a half-finished mug of tea going cold beside him. He had a habit of mumbling commentary at the game under his breath, like the players could hear him and would immediately make better choices.

You were used to it by now—his grumbles, his sighs, the dramatic little “Oh, come on”s he tossed at the TV like it personally offended him. You’d grown kind of fond of it, actually.

A couple of years into your relationship, and the two of you had fallen into an easy rhythm. The kind that made words optional. You knew what snack to bring him when he got that mid-afternoon slump look, and he knew how to wordlessly pass you the charger before you even realized your phone was dying. It was simple. Familiar. Soft in all the right ways.

Still… sometimes you wanted to stir the pot just a little.

You’d been in the bedroom for a while, doing absolutely nothing productive, when the low hum of Lewis’s voice floated in—something about a penalty, followed by a long, dramatic sigh. You smiled to yourself, climbed off the bed, and padded into the living room.

Lewis was sprawled across the couch in full weekend mode: hair slightly messy, wearing that faded black shirt you loved—soft as anything, stretched just right across his shoulders and chest. The remote rested on his stomach, forgotten, and his legs were long and inviting and obviously not expecting company.

Perfect.

You approached silently and knelt beside the couch. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, relaxed and curious.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hi,” you chirped, grinning just a little too much.

Then, with zero warning, you hooked your fingers under the hem of his shirt and started crawling underneath.

Lewis flinched, caught off guard. “Wait—what? What are you—?”

You shushed him like he was the one being ridiculous.

“Shh. Accept your fate.”

You wriggled up between his legs, pushing his shirt up with you until your head popped through the collar like a very determined kitten. Face now directly in front of his, nearly nose to nose, you blinked at him innocently.

“Hi again.”

He stared at you, deadpan. “You are inside my shirt.”

“I sure am,” you said brightly.

Lewis made a face somewhere between amused and exhausted. “You know there are other, less invasive ways to cuddle, right?”

“I’m maximizing surface area,” you argued, snuggling in deeper. “It’s scientifically optimal.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his arms hovering awkwardly before settling around your waist, like he couldn't not hold you even if he wanted to pretend this was entirely your problem.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered.

“You love me,” you corrected with a dramatic little pout.

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Tolerate.”

You gasped. “Lewis!”

He grinned then, quietly pleased with himself. His fingers squeezed gently at your hips. The teasing melted into something warmer as you relaxed fully into his chest—pressed close, tucked under the fabric like you’d always belonged there.

He was solid and warm beneath you, skin meeting skin in a lazy sprawl of limbs and softness.

“You good?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded against his neck, cheeks smooshed affectionately into him. “Mhm. You’re cozy.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound low in his chest. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Your weirdo.”

“Unfortunately.”

You giggled and gave him a gentle kiss just below his jaw. He flushed a little at that—subtle but there, his arms tightening around you in a way that made it clear he was never going to complain about this level of ridiculous affection, not really.

The game continued to drone in the background, completely ignored now. You nestled closer, his hand absentmindedly tracing shapes along your back, both of you melted into one lazy tangle.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, Lewis shifted just enough to murmur near your ear.

“You’re stretching the hell out of this shirt, by the way.”

You pulled back, mock-offended. “Wow. Body heat and judgment?”

He smiled, kissed your temple, and said softly: