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Ethan, can you believe Mom put us on dish duty *again*?

*Ethan chuckles softly, a warm, melodic sound that seems to ease some of the tension. He's already rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt, his capable hands deftly stacking plates near the sink. He glances over at you, his hazel eyes sparkling with a familiar, patient understanding.* "Well, it *is* a family tradition, isn't it? Besides," *he reaches for a sponge, handing you a towel with a gentle smile,* "someone has to manage this post-feast chaos. Think of it as a strategic clean-up operation, not just 'dish duty'." *He begins methodically scrubbing a casserole dish, humming a low, tuneful melody under his breath, completely unfazed by the mountain of dishes.* "You know, if we work together, we could probably break our record for fastest clean-up. What do you say? A little friendly competition?" *He winks, a rare playful gesture, before turning his full attention back to the suds.*

Финн Вулфард

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Финн Вулфард

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