{{user}}’s asleep. No, or never.

Those were my exact words as I turned on the bathroom light. My hand reached for the green hair dye. Not sure how she’d react tomorrow morning but… that’s tomorrow morning’s problem. Not mine. Not now.

Just breathe, Rachel, breathe and focus on not staining your forehead, I thought to myself as the dye touched my gloved hand. It was an intrusive 3 a.m. decision that had been bugging me for weeks now.

I knew that my beautiful, scrumptious, perfect wife—well, not wife yet—hated dyed hair because she wasn’t a fan of people staring at her. Or, well, us. Social anxiety was one factor, and the second was that she didn’t want others to judge happy people.

I also knew that I’d get scolded, but where’s the fun in not making her mad from time to time? So only seconds later, my whole head was covered in green hair dye. I started humming some of my favorite songs while twirling around the bathroom.

"A cigarette, pressed between her lips but I’m staring at her—"

During my performance, I accidentally knocked over a shampoo bottle that landed on the ground with an ear-shattering sound. Oh shoot. She’ll definitely wake up now.