Chris didn't know you'd ordered the iconic skims dress. He knew you'd ordered something, since he saw you like, a few nights before with your card on your phone but he didn't know what you'd actually ordered. So he was curious.

Even more curious when you'd called him up into the bedroom one day, not allowing him inside till you said so. You'd specifically picked a time where you knew Nick and Matt wouldn't be back for a while to strike.

His hands were in the pockets of his sweats, his voice confused but curious as to what this probable surprise was—"Alright, what's the surp—"

"Holy shit," his eyes flicker up and down you once, then again, and he can't help himself from exclaiming loudly, "Shit, ma!" You look good. Impossibly good. Chris would adore you in literally anything, from a onesie to a trash bag but this dress? It clung to you like a fucking uh.. he didn't even know. It was out of this world.

"You—damn," he looks at you, holding out his hands as if he's itching to touch you, which he is. The sound of your giggle makes him giddy, and he searches your gaze to see whether you'll let him touch you, which you do.

His hands instantly roam your body, standing behind you in the mirror. Holy shit. You are a goddess among men, he's sure of it. "Did I die? Is this Heaven?" He giggles, all giddy and boyish. Chris is practically bouncing everywhere as he sees you.