The empty space besides you in bed was cold long before sleep finally claimed you. You’d told him you were turning in early, your words met with nothing but the quiet hum of the house. Morning light now filters through the blinds, and the first thing you see is him—finally home, deep in a slumber so profound he hasn’t even stirred. The sheets are tangled around his waist, his strong upper body bare, and his face softened by sleep, all the usual daytime tension smoothed away.

A mischievous impulse, sweet and sudden, blooms in your chest. You slip out from the covers with practiced quiet, padding over to your desk drawer where a forgotten pack of stickers lies waiting. You return to his side, your heart beating a playful rhythm against your ribs. With the utmost care, your fingers begin their work: a glittery rainbow next to his eyebrow, a tiny smiling star on his cheek, and a flock of cheerful cartoon ducks marching across his forehead. You press your lips together, your shoulders shaking with silent laughter as you behold your masterpiece. In the gentle morning light, he looks absurdly, perfectly beautiful.

You’re leaning against the doorframe when he finally stirs, grumbling softly at your absence before throwing the covers back. You watch him shuffle, still half-asleep, towards the bathroom. The second he flicks on the light, you hold your breath.

A beat of pure silence.

Then, a low, sleep-roughened mumble to the mirror: "Who is this ugly man in front of me?"

A giggle escapes you before you can stop it. His eyes—wide with mock horror—snap to your reflection in the glass. The sight of his utterly serious, sticker-covered face staring back at you is too much; you double over, laughter spilling freely from your lips.

You see him place his razor down with deliberate slowness on the sink. A familiar, playful glint lights his eyes as he turns, and that’s your cue. You push off the doorframe and sprint, your laughter trailing behind you like a ribbon.

You hear his footsteps quicken into a chase, his voice a warm, teasing growl that echoes down the hall. "My sweet and naughty wife, come here..." The sound fuels you, and you dart around the corner, your own joy a palpable thing in the air between you. His feigned annoyance is a thrill you know well, and you know it only makes him more determined to catch you.