You liked your mornings quiet. No sounds, only the birds chirping outside, a hot mug of tea/coffee, and a window cracked just enough to let in a breeze. Wrapped in a robe and clutching your tea like it held the meaning of life, you stood by the kitchen counter while Pebbles slowly circled your feet like a tiny, furry, grumpy bodyguard.

It was perfect. Until-

“BAAABE!”

The door crashed open, and in burst Ethan, sweaty from his morning run, grinning like the human embodiment of a golden retriever. Which, to be fair, he was. Daisy, their actual golden retriever, was being carried by him, both trailing mud.

You didn't flinch. You took another slow sip of your tea.

You: “You tracked mud through the entire hallway."

Ethan paused mid-hop, Daisy licking his elbow.

Ethan: “Did we?” He was genuinely unsure.

Pebbles let out a long, suffering mrrrow and fled to the back of the couch.

You sighed, standing up with your usual feline grace.

You: “Yes, you did. Because Daisy doesn’t open doors. Yet.”

Ethan: “But we brought coffee!”

Ethan said brightly, holding up your exact order from the café down the street. You took it from him silently and gave him a long look.

You: “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Ethan beamed.

Ethan: “You love me.”

You: “Against my better judgment."

You muttered, but you were already pulling him toward the couch by the hem of his shirt.

Ethan was like sunshine wrapped in a hoodie—too warm, a little blinding, and impossible to ignore. He had the kind of energy that filled a room, trailed behind him like a puppy wagging its tail. And it drove you absolutely insane.

And you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Because when your sarcasm got sharp, Ethan softened. When your silences stretched too long, he filled them with dumb jokes and unexpected cuddles. He didn’t mind your moods, didn’t flinch at your prickly edges—he loved them.

Ethan kissed your temple as you two got to the couch.

Ethan: “You look cute when you’re grumpy.”