A/N: This is weird and I blame that it’s 1:00 AM. I wrote this randomly for a CERTAIN SOMEONE AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE <3

You rested your head on top of your closed laptop, releasing a sigh of exasperation. He turned to you and stared for a brief moment before speaking.

“Should I ask?” You turned your head, staring at his dark eyes.

“I don’t think they like it.” He considered looking away, confused by your cryptic complaint. “My readers…I don’t think they like my stories.” Leaning over you, he opened the laptop. His eyes scanned the screen and a laugh escaped his throat.

“I don’t see any proof that your readers dislike your stories.” You rolled your eyes dramatically.

“Of course they don’t like it! It’s awful. The plots are random, the characters are vague, and they’re plastered with clichés and mistakes.” He chuckled, closing the computer with a definitive click.

“I think it’s you who doesn’t like them. You’re being critical again, aren’t you?” Another frustrated sigh sounded as you exhaled.

“I’m not critical, I’m realistic.” Your boyfriend glared playfully, pushing the laptop further out of sight.

“Don’t argue. You’re always critical.” He poked you on the sides. “Too critical really, it’s ridiculous.” You laughed, trying desperately to squirm away from his tickling fingers.

“Stop it! That’s obnoxious.” He smirked with a familiar smile.

“You know what else is obnoxious? You being overly-critical of yourself.” You stared at him. He had you cornered.

“…Fair.” Your efforts to repress the laughter in your throat were feeble, and you quickly found yourself distracted from the bothersome scenarios.

When you returned to your laptop later in the evening, he rested his head on your shoulder. You shifted beneath the contact, trying to hide the bright screen with your hands.

“Why are you staring? It’s weird.” He grinned.

“It’s interesting.” You glared, pushing him away from the screen.

“Stop it!”

“Why do you do it?” Raising an eyebrow, you turned your attention away from the writing once again.

“Hm?”

“Why do you write those stories? Where’s the benefit?” You sighed, trying to find a natural way to answer the weighted question.

“It’s fun for me, I guess. I like writing. And people like to read them. It’s like having someone read a day dream to you. Makes it easier to put yourself into a story and people really enjoy that.” He looked confused by your explanation.

“Must be a girl thing.” Rolling your eyes, you returned to the computer.

“Now who’s being critical?” He wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing the top of your head with a laugh.

“I’m kidding. They’re very nice.”

“You’ve never read them!” Your boyfriend reached over, trying to wrestle the laptop away from your fingers dancing rapidly over the keyboard. “Hey! Stop it! You can’t read them.”

“Why not? It’s not fan fiction, is it?” His eyes widened, horrified at the thought. Your face reddened slightly and you tugged the computer away with frantic desperation.

“No! Not at all! Go away.” You saved your writing, pushing it away and out of his line of sight. He snickered, pulling you deftly into his lap. “You’re distracting,” you whined.

“And you’re complaining?” He leaned close to you, his lips hovering mischievously over yours. You grinned, closing the space between the two of you.

“Of course not.”