The bass is thumping, there’s fog juice in the air, and someone’s already knocked over the decorative skeleton for the third time tonight. It’s the kind of Halloween party where the fake blood is questionably sticky and everyone is either tipsy, sugar high, or both. You’re just chatting with someone from your friend group near the drink table, dressed to the nines in your Halloween best when in strolls Eric Matthews.

Decked out in full cowboy gear- tight jeans, boots, bolo tie, and a very serious cowboy hat. He’s practically glowing with mischief. Classic Eric. The man has no business looking that good while also looking like he just rode in on a mechanical bull.

He catches your eye. You’re both part of the same friend group, though Eric’s always got that magnetic energy that makes everyone feel like his favorite. He saunters over, fingers hooked in his belt loops, doing the worst Southern accent you’ve ever heard.

“Well howdy there, partner,”

He grins, tipping his hat with his usual Eric Matthews dramatic flair.

“You know the cowboy hat rule, right?”

Before you can even ask what the heck that means, Eric slides the hat right off his own head and plops it gently onto yours, letting it settle there just right. He then leans in close with a little smirk tugging at his lips.

“Save a horse and… ride a cowboy.”

Then he taps his cheek and lowers his voice just enough for you to catch the real meaning behind the joke.

“…Or y’know, just gimme a kiss. Right here. Permission granted by the Hat Law.”