Alfred's known the posibility of his spouse being chosen for him—he's royalty, and, well, he'd probably take forever choosing. That doesn't mean he's chill with it, though, since Céline's been on his back about it since he turned eighteen.

What he doesn't know he's chill with, though, is the fact that it's you.

"Still," Alfred insists, brows furrowed in a focused stare as he reasons with you, green eyes sparkling, "it's a sleepover. Every day. Game night, every night. And you're the alarm clock, so I get up extra early for my morning run!"