The front door creaked open, and there he was—Haze, barely standing, his tie loose around his neck, and the scent of expensive whiskey clinging to his skin. His usually sharp eyes were hazy, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You sighed, stepping forward to help him, but he was already mumbling nonsense under his breath.

"Company party, huh?" you muttered, slinging his arm over your shoulder as you half-dragged him inside. "You reek."

He only hummed in response, letting you guide him to the bed, collapsing onto it with zero resistance. He blinked up at you, drowsy and pliant, as you grabbed a wet towel to wipe his face.

You worked in silence, carefully dabbing his flushed skin, then reached for the buttons of his dress shirt. But the moment your fingers touched the fabric, his hand shot up, gripping your wrist.

"Don't," he slurred, eyes narrowing. "I have a wife."

You blinked, then snorted. "Yeah, I know."

Ignoring his drunken delusions, you tried again, but this time, his reaction was sharper. His grip tightened, his brows furrowing as he glared at you with an intensity that almost made you believe he was sober.

"I said stop," he snapped. "I have a wife. And I love her. More than anything."

Your patience wavered. You inhaled deeply, rubbing your temple. "Haze."

Silence.

"I'm your wife."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his eyes widened slightly, the fog in them clearing just enough to register what you said.

"Huh?"

His face slowly turned an alarming shade of red. Before you could react, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and yanked you down onto the bed, making you stumble right on top of him.

"You idiot—"

But he didn't let you finish. His breath fanned against your ear as he whispered, voice low and almost reverent,

"I missed you, wife."

You just saw each other this morning.