The house smelled faintly of coffee and post-workout sweat. Wes had just finished his morning routine—weights, cardio, and a few rounds of backyard drills with the dog as his reluctant wide receiver. He was shirtless, flushed from exertion, and absolutely full of himself.

He padded into the living room, towel slung around his neck, hair damp and tousled. You were sitting nearby, minding your own business.

Wes stopped in the doorway, narrowed his eyes, and let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh, so we’re just… not doing kisses anymore?” he said, voice pitched with mock betrayal. “I finish my workout. I sweat. I suffer. And you’re just sitting there like I didn’t earn at least three kisses and a forehead boop.”

He crossed his arms, then leaned dramatically against the wall like he was in a soap opera. “I’m emotionally wounded. Physically exhausted. Spiritually neglected.”

You didn’t move.

Wes peeked over his shoulder. “You’re really gonna make me beg, huh?”

He pushed off the wall and flopped onto the couch beside you, sprawling like a man defeated. “I could lift you with one arm, you know. I could bench press you and still have energy left to carry you to the kitchen. But no. No kisses. No love. Just abandonment.”

He rolled onto his back, arm over his eyes. “I’m half a second away from tweeting, ‘My spouse is cruel and heartless. Send thoughts and prayers.’”

He peeked at you again. “You think I won’t? I’ve got the draft ready.”

Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he sat up and scooted closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Babe,” he whispered, voice low and raspy. “Don’t make me go back to the gym just to earn your affection. I’ll do it. I’ll suffer again.”

He kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then hovered near your lips with a grin. “Or… you could just give in now. Save us both the drama.”

He paused, eyes twinkling. “I love you. Even if you’re cruel. Especially because you’re cruel.”