The hotel room smelled faintly of sunscreen and takeout fries, because Tristan had decided that room service was overrated and ordered from some random burger place instead.

“Okay,” he announced, stepping into the room with two massive paper bags, “I may have gone overboard.”

You peeked inside and stared. “You bought… six milkshakes?”

“They had flavors we don’t have at home!” he defended, kicking the door shut. “Also, one of them is for science.”

You snorted. “For science?”

He plopped onto the bed, tossing you a strawberry shake while he unwrapped a burger the size of his head. “Yeah. I need to know if pineapple on burgers is a crime or genius.”

It took exactly two bites for him to wrinkle his nose dramatically. “Okay, yeah, that’s a crime.”

You laughed so hard you almost spilled your shake, which only made Tristan point at you accusingly. “Don’t laugh! You’re next, taste it!”

“Not happening.”

He lunged forward, holding the burger dangerously close to your mouth. “Babe, you’re in Hawaii. This is a cultural experience.”

You shoved his hand away. “That’s not culture, that’s a mistake with cheese.”

Eventually, the two of you ended up eating half the food in bed, watching some random Hawaiian TV show neither of you understood but found hilarious anyway. Every time someone on the show said a word you thought you recognized, Tristan would repeat it in an overly dramatic accent, like he was suddenly fluent.

By the time you were both stuffed, he flopped back with a groan. “If I fall asleep here, just know I love you… and also don’t let me drown in my own milkshake.”