(Joseph's POV)
"Trish, wake up! Wake up, the sun is literally hitting the carpet!"
I hissed the words, shaking her shoulder with a frantic energy that usually didn't exist before 10 a.m. Trish groaned, her dark hair a tangled mess across my pillow, her eyes squinting against the morning light pouring through my bedroom window.
Even half-asleep, she affected me more than she should have. I dealt with it quietly, reminding myself this wasn't the time.
"What? Joseph, stop shaking me," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. Then, her eyes snapped open. She looked at the ceiling, then at me, then at the fact that she was still wearing her clothes from yesterday. "Oh my god. Did I stay here all night?"
"We both did. We fell asleep right after the movie," I whispered, scrambling out of bed and checking the door. "And we didn't even wash. I feel like I'm covered in stadium dust and popcorn salt."
Trish sat up abruptly, a look of pure panic crossing her face. "Miss Britney! Oh no! Joseph, if she sees me walking out of your room at eight in the morning, she's going to think... well, she's going to think exactly what she's going to thinks!"
"She's downstairs," I said, leaning my ear against the wood of the door. "I can hear the kettle. You need to ninja-move back to your room right now."
"Ninja what? Uhh! My shoes," she gasped, scrambling off the bed. "Where are my freaki— shoes?"
"Under the bed! Go, go, go!" I urged.
Trish dove for her sneakers, her movements a blur of frantic limbs. She paused at the door, her hand on the knob, looking back at me with a mix of terror and a giggle she couldn't quite suppress.
"We are so dead if we get caught." She laughed.
"You're a Carpenter, Trish. You're supposed to be grounded and sensible," I teased, despite my own heart hammering. "Now get moving!"
She slipped out, a ghost in the hallway, and I held my breath until I heard the faint click of her bedroom door closing across the hall. I collapsed back onto my bed, a ridiculous grin spreading across my face. The "King of Mthland" was officially reduced to a teenager hiding from his mom, and honestly? I had never felt more alive.
The rest of the Saturday was a slow, beautiful descent into something I didn't recognize. Without the shadow of school or the pressure of the team, the mansion felt like a different world.
"You're doing it wrong," Trish said later that afternoon, leaning over my shoulder as I tried to flip a pancake in the kitchen.
"I'm pretty sure flipping is a universal law of physics, Trish. You just throw it up and pray," I argued, gripping the spatula like a football.
"It's about the wrist, Joseph. Not the ego," she laughed, reaching around me to steady my hand.
The touch was simple, but it sent a jolt through me that made the pancake land half-on, half-off the griddle. We stood there for a second, the steam rising between us, the playful bickering dying down into a quiet, humming tension.
"See? Messed it up," I muttered, but I didn't move away from her.
"It's still edible," she whispered, her eyes meeting mine.
By midnight, the house had settled into its deep, velvet silence. Mom had long since gone to bed, and the only light came from the moon reflecting off the pool outside.
I found myself back in the kitchen, driven by a sudden, intense craving for the only thing that could satisfy a midnight appetite: the last pint of Triple Chocolate Fudge ice cream.
I reached for the freezer handle at the exact same moment another hand touched it.
"Seriously?" I whispered, looking at Trish. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt of mine she'd 'borrowed' and a pair of thick socks.
"I was thinking about it since dinner, Joseph. It's mine by right of mental possession," she whispered back, her eyes narrowed in a playful challenge.
"I'm the one who bought it with my own allowance. That's physical possession," I countered, pulling the freezer door open.
There it was. One lonely carton at the back. I grabbed it, but Trish was faster, snatching it out of my hand and hopping up onto the kitchen island.
"Share or die," she commanded, grabbing a single spoon from the drawer.
"You're brutal, Carpenter."
I climbed up next to her, our shoulders brushing as she dug out a massive spoonful. She held it out to me, her eyes glinting in the dark. I took the bite, the cold sweetness hitting my tongue, but I wasn't looking at the ice cream. I was looking at her.
"What?" she asked, her voice dropping.
"Nothing. Just... I don't want Monday to come," I confessed, my voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. "I don't want to go back to being a stranger to you."
Trish set the carton down between us. She reached out, her fingers cold from the ice cream as she touched my jaw. "We aren't strangers, Joseph. Even when we aren't talking, I can feel you across the room. The silence doesn't change what's happening."
"And what is happening?" I asked, leaning closer.
"I'm falling for the most obnoxious boy in Mthland City," she breathed, her forehead coming to rest against mine. "And I don't think I want to be caught."
"Good," I murmured, my hand sliding around the back of her neck. "Because I'm already down here waiting for you."
I kissed her. Then again, slower this time, like neither of us was in a hurry to pull away. The chocolate on her lips mixed with the cold of the ice cream as it melted between us. She leaned into me, and I kissed her once more, brief but certain. We stood close in the quiet kitchen, half-hidden, the house still around us. No eyes, no voices, just the warmth between us, steady and real.
We sat there on the counter for a long time, sharing the last of the ice cream and the first of our secrets, while the rest of the world slept, completely unaware that the King of Mthland had finally found his Queen in the dark.