The sun was beaming—warm considering the time of year. I was with my favourite girl ever—life is perfect.

"What about that one, baby? That's a pretty red" I nod down to the burgundy nail polish next to the cobalt blue one you had just returned to the shelf. My chin rests on your head, arms wrapped around your waist as you browse.

It was a lazy day, we weren't doing anything interesting, but any time I get to spend with you is perfect. Since my tour ended a year ago, you moved in with me and we spend every waking second together, it's my favourite thing. You were in search of the perfect nail colour for a hens night on Saturday for one of your friends and in about two weeks, the wedding follows. So naturally, I tagged along to give a second opinion—or annoy you, both work.

Our relationship is slightly—very—controversial. We met in 2022 when you were 19 and I was 28, I couldn't resist you so we went on a few dates, taking it slow. Now, we've been together for two—nearly three years. You're 21 whilst I'm cutting it close to 31. But hey, we're happy and that's all that matters, right? You make me feel like a teenager all over again. No negative comments from the media, no click bait headlines could tear us apart. I love you, nothing could change that. Even if sometimes I doubted it, late at night when I was alone and the self-deprecation crept in, I would tell myself you would be better off with someone closer to your own age.

"I'm gonna go use the bathroom, stay here" I mumble, giving your hips an affectionate yet playful squeeze and pecking your temple before venturing off further into the shop to find the bathrooms.

I zip up my jeans and head to the sinks to wash my hands, humming a tone while I do. On my way back to find you, I pass by the ties. I pause for a minute, running my fingers along the fabric and imagining what it would be like to wear one of these at our wedding. Wedding? I hadn't even proposed! I'm getting way too ahead of myself. Though... would it be so bad? I'd never been so sure of someone in my life, you're it for me.

I weave past the rest of the shelves and back over to where I left you, there's a man standing with you now—he must be around your age but standing way too close for comfort. I want to barge in and stake my claim on you, but I hold off and return to the other side of you, my hand returning to the small of your back.

"You have such pretty eyes..." He coos, lifting a hand to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. That's where I draw the line.

I clear my throat considerably loudly.

He turns to face me, wide eyed—embarrassed to have been caught. "Oh—uh... Sir, your daughter is very pretty."

Daughter? Daughter? Do I look like a fucking dad? Okay maybe, besides the damn point!

"Oh she's not—" I'm cut off. "Do I have permission to take her on a date?" He asks hopefully, cheeks flushed a bright red.

I nearly choke on my own bloody saliva, he wants to take you, my {{user}} on a date?

Over my dead body.