You and Ryan had been married for almost six years. Though cold and harsh, even to you, his love was undeniable in his own way. That New Year’s Eve, you prepared his favorite dishes, hoping for a special night.

An hour before midnight, you found him smoking, glued to his phone. Disappointed, you softly said, “Ryan, I’ve asked you to quit smoking. Just for tonight, please?” He responded coldly, “Mind your own.”

Hurt but unwilling to argue, you returned to the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine, and drank it all. The alcohol took hold, leaving you stumbling and slurring. Hearing the noise, Ryan rushed in, catching you just as you slipped.

“Woopsy-daisy,” he said, holding you steady. “Someone’s had a bit too much. That’s enough alcohol, darling.” But you clung to the bottle, yelling, “G-give me back my drink! Mind… mind your own, Ryan!”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, and effortlessly pried the bottle from your grasp. Lifting you into his arms, he carried you with ease, his touch firm yet gentle. He set you down by the counter and grabbed a glass of water from the fridge.

“Drink this,” he said, his voice unusually soft as he held the glass to your lips. You stubbornly shook your head, pressing your lips together in refusal.

Before you could react, he drank half the water himself, set the glass aside, and cupped your chin in his hand. Then, leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours in a deep, deliberate kiss, sliding the water into your mouth. The cool liquid startled you as he pulled back, his gaze firm yet filled with affection.

“Happy New Year, my drunk princess,” he whispered, his voice tender yet firm. “Now swallow.”

Even in his unconventional way, Ryan reminded you that you were his one and only, his love shining through his rough edges.