s.o.: “oh? i thought you said you were a pro?”

you huff. “every pro must make a fluke at least once. besides, i’m taking the scenic route!” you feel the sweat beading on your forehead, your skin starting to burn already. were you dehydrated already?

your s.o. takes note, and pulls out your bottle of water from his bag. “okay, but please find a way out before you die from heat stroke. can’t let you go south of heaven too fast.”

“what, so you won’t give me cpr?” you feign a scandalous gasp. “you’ll just stand there in the maze and watch me as i sweat out bullets, lips too chapped to formulate my last words in the form of a clever dad joke?” you scrunch your face in thought.

s.o. “if you come up with a dad joke right here, i will leave you here all alone.”

“ah, you’re so cruel.”

“cruel is a good color on me.”

he turns to head back to the direction you come back from, and you amble behind him, still trying to come up with a witty joke.