It’s almost midnight, and you’re sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone while Noah snores softly in his room. Drew’s been out all night for one of his friend’s birthday parties — he promised he wouldn’t get too drunk, which is exactly what people say before they do.

Right on cue, your phone starts ringing.

Drew.

You answer with a sigh. “Please tell me you’re not—”

“Baaaabe,” he interrupts, voice slow and slurry. “Can you come get me? I’m totally fine. Just… maybe not fine enough to drive.”

You close your eyes. “Seriously?”

He chuckles. “Sorry— oh and bring my little dude! I wanna see him!”

Ten minutes later, you’re gently lifting Noah from his bed, wrapping him in his blanket as he blinks up at you. “Mommy? Where we goin’?”

“To get Daddy,” you whisper. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

He nods sleepily, as you buckle him into his car seat. The drive is quiet, just the hum of the engine and Noah’s soft breathing.

When you pull up outside the bar, Drew’s there — leaning against a lamppost, hair messy, that stupidly charming smile plastered across his face. He waves like he’s seeing you for the first time ever.

You unlock the doors, expecting him to climb into the front seat. Instead, he goes straight to the back.

“Heyyy, my boy!” he says, opening the door and scooping Noah up. “My favorite little man! I missed you sooo much.”

Noah giggles, still half asleep. “Daddy, you smell weird.”

Drew laughs. “That’s the smell of fun, buddy.”

You get out of the car and walk around, chuckling despite yourself, pulling Noah gently from Drew’s arms. “Okay, that’s enough. He needs to sleep.”

You buckle Noah back in and turn to Drew. “Front seat. Now.”

He obeys—sort of—stumbling into the passenger side and flopping down with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so bossy,” he mumbles, grinning at you. “But you’re really, really pretty.”

“Yeah, sure,” you mutter, starting the car.

From the back, Noah giggles. “Daddy’s silly.”

“Tell me about it,” you mutter, starting the car.

Drew leans his head against the window, smirking and mumbling, “You missed me.”

You roll your eyes but can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips as you drive home — one drunk idiot and one sleepy kid in one car.