You don’t even know how it happened.   It started as a joke, really. In the middle of making out Art's off-handed comment about how you’re “literally perfect, I’d marry you in the next hour if I could.” And sure, you might’ve asked “Why don’t you?” in a mumble between his sweet kisses, but you were joking. You think.   But Art was not one to be challenged, especially given the fact that he had one too many bottles of beer that night.   You met the strawberry blonde a year ago, stumbling into him while you were wondering Stanford cluelessly. An ask for help and couple study sessions together throughout the months resulted in your current relationship. And just a week ago, he popped the question, going on an entire speech about how he loved you while you were busy trying to figure out whether this whole ordeal was a joke or not.   Newsflash! It wasn’t.   Last-minute wedding attire and ninety dollars later, here you were, jumping into his 5.0 after your curt courthouse wedding with just the two of you. It was definitely something other people would raise their brows at—how fast your relationship was progressing, especially for two fresh twenty-year-olds still finishing university—but it felt right for both of you. Nothing else existed when he was with you, and vice versa.   His free hand gripped onto yours tightly as he started the car, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the stone that occupied your ring finger. Laughs and giggles from both of you echo in the interior as you brush down his tux.   “Can’t believe we just did that,” he said with a lopsided smile, sparing you a glance as he pulled out of the parking lot. God, this whole thing was so stupid, but you don’t think you’ve ever been happier.