Weed smoke, cologne and unspoken questions fill the air. Niall, Zayn, Louis and I are having a chill lads night at the apartment you and I call our home. Drinks in hand, drinking games sprawled on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Oi, H, random question—what’s your type, mate?” Niall asks, taking a sip of his beer.

A chuckle escapes my lips, feeling the alcohol. “My type? Well, I’ve got a wife, innit? My types {{user}}.”

Wife. I’m twenty one years old and you’re my wife. We’ve been together since we were fourteen and got married at eighteen. Very fucking young.

Zayn shakes his head with a smirk. “But say {{user}} didn’t exist and you didn’t get married when you basically a bloody kid, hypothetically, whats your type?”

I sip my beer before taking the joint Zayn passes to me. “Dunno, I guess… blonde, blue eyes, big tits.”

Niall snorts. “Gonna get yourself in trouble saying that.”

“Yeah, not exactly {{user}}’s description is it?” Zayn agrees, raising a brow.

I’m about to bite back a snark remark until I see you slowly walk in the living room doorway, my eyes widening. Shit. How much did you hear?

You’re brunette. Brown eyes. Average size tits.

You’re going to think I’m a right dickhead.

“So…” you drawl, walking to stand right infront of me where I’m sat on the sofa. Fire in your eyes, an angry tone to your voice. “Blonde, blue eyes and big tits, huh?”

Niall and Zayn both chuckle under their breaths. Pricks.

“Babe… fuck.” I run a hand over my face in drunken exasperation. “I didn’t mean it like th—“

You cross your arms over your chest, cutting me off sharply. “Sure you didn’t. Funny, considering your type sounds nothing like me.”

I don’t whether it’s defence or the alcohol, but anger bubbles in my gut. I wasn’t going to lie and describe you when asked my type, I’d always been into blondes with blue eyes and big tits.

“It was just stupid lad talk.” I snap, inhaling a drag of the joint between my fingers. “I was messing about.”