It was 11:43 PM when Tim’s phone buzzed.

He didn’t recognize the number at first, but when he answered and heard your best friend’s voice — breathless, slightly amused, slightly panicked — he sat up straight.

“Hey, um... sorry to call so late,” Lucy began. “But your girl’s drunk. Like, really drunk. She kept saying she wanted you, not an Uber. So… congratulations, I guess?”

Tim was already up, grabbing his keys. “Where are you?”

“Some bar in West Hollywood. She’s on the curb, told a bouncer she was dating an ‘officer of the law’ like she was announcing royalty.”

Tim muttered a curse under his breath. “I’m on my way.”

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to the sidewalk and spotted you immediately next to Lucy— perched on a planter box, heels kicked off, holding your phone upside down like a microphone, eyes squinted in deep concentration.

“There he is!” your friend called out, waving.

You turned, eyes going wide. “Timothy!” you shouted, jumping off the ledge and nearly stumbling.

“You actually came! You’re so handsome.”

He caught you before you could fall flat. “Hey,” he said, steadying you by the waist. “You okay?”

“I missed your face,” you whispered loudly into his neck. “Also, I maybe told that bartender you were my boyfriend. But like... you kind of are, right?”

Lucy cackled. “She’s been confessing all night. You’re lucky I recorded some of it.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Tim muttered, scooping you up bridal-style when you refused to walk in a straight line.

He chuckled under his breath, tightening his hold. “You’re gonna regret everything you said tonight, aren’t you?”