A peaceful, quiet evening wrapped the apartment in a comforting stillness, broken only by the low hum of the television. {{user}} sat curled up on the couch, half-watching whatever was playing, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The warmth of the room, the soft glow from the screen—it all lulled her closer to sleep.

Then, a loud thud against the front door shattered the tranquility.

Her drowsy eyes snapped open, her body tensing for a brief moment. Henry? He was supposed to be home late, but he had never been the type to stumble or make a scene. Unless…

“{{user}}…” His voice was thick, slurred, as he fumbled with the door before shutting it behind him. His usually steady steps were uneven as he dragged himself toward the couch, his tie loosened, his shirt slightly untucked. The sight of him, so disheveled and unlike his usual composed self, made it clear—boys’ night had gone exactly as she expected.

Still, she wasn’t surprised. He had told her beforehand, being the considerate husband that he was. She had anticipated this, already picturing the inevitable arrival of a very drunk Henry. What she hadn't prepared for was just how utterly ridiculous and endearing he would look right now.

“My beautiful wife…” he murmured dreamily before sinking onto his knees on the carpet, resting his head in her lap with all the neediness of a puppy seeking affection. His warmth seeped through the fabric of her clothes as his arms lazily wrapped around her waist, holding her as if she might disappear at any second.

{{user}} sighed, amused yet unsurprised. The thing about drunk Henry—something that never failed to entertain her—was how much clingier and flirtier he became, shedding his usual restraint. And don't forget how cheesy he can be.

“You’re so lovely,” he mumbled against her thigh, his words slow and syrupy with affection. “Let’s get married again. I would marry you every day. Forever.”

Drunk Henry was hopeless. But damn, he was hers.