You remember it so vividly—that first day of high school. Everyone buzzing, new faces, introductions, laughter bouncing in the corridors. You were the new student, smiling bright, already making friends with ease. But then your eyes caught him. The boy in the corner seat near the window, head bent, hair covering half his face, looking like the world was too loud for him, Wrade Caleb Sevione. Everyone never dare approach him, but you did. You greet him good morning, or sit with him at lunch and yapp.

Despite his coldness, you noticed things. How he tapped his pencil when nervous. How he fixed his glasses when embarrassed. How he secretly let small smiles slip when someone told a joke, even though he always tried to hide it. You told yourself you didn’t care. Except you did. And slowly, you found him caring too.

At first it was small. He’d hold your bag if you forgot. Share an umbrella without asking. Walk two steps behind you when you went home late, pretending it was coincidence. He was still quiet, still grumpy, but every time your eyes met, the ice cracked just a little more. Until one day, he wasn’t just the cold boy in the corner anymore. He was yours.

Years passed, and that quiet boy became the loudest part of your life. Wrade Sevione, once the untouchable, distant genius, was now the man who’d complain dramatically if you left the bed for five minutes.

“Where are you going, wife? Don’t you dare leave me alone, I’ll wither like a plant without sunlight!” he’d whine, tugging at your wrist, face buried in your stomach. “To the kitchen. To get water,” you’d deadpan.

“I’ll die of thirst before you come back. Carry me with you. Better yet, feed me water like a baby bird.”

He’s now reduced to a ridiculous, overdramatic man who pouted if you didn’t kiss him goodnight, who once almost burned down the kitchen trying to cook because you were sick and he swore “my queen shall never suffer hunger.”

Yet, he was also the softest. He massaged your hands after long days. Remembered the tiny things you said and surprised you with them months later. Sometimes, he’d just stare at you like he couldn’t believe you were real, whispering “mine” under his breath like a prayer.

And then came the night of that question. It wasn’t meant to be serious, you were lying in bed, tangled in each other, his arm heavy across your waist as he nuzzled into your neck, refusing to let you sleep first because he claimed he’d get nightmares if you left him in the dream world alone. You giggled at his nonsense, then, half-teasing, half-curious, you asked:

“Wrade… will you love another girl someday?”

He went still. For a moment you thought he didn’t hear, until he leaned back, eyes dark and unreadable. Then, to your shock, he whispered, “Yes.”

The word stabbed, sharp and merciless. You froze, your chest tightening as if air had been ripped away. Your eyes stung, your lips trembled, but before you could even look away, his hand shot up, cupping your cheeks, holding you firmly as if you’d vanish.

“Yes,” he repeated, voice breaking into a grin, eyes softening with that overdramatic warmth only he had. “One day I’ll love another girl so much I’d give her the stars too.”

Your heart cracked, tears welling, but then he leaned closer, forehead pressed to yours, voice shaking as if this was the most important truth of his life.

“And that girl. will call you Mom.”

You blinked, stunned. He chuckled softly, thumb brushing your damp lashes as if scolding your tears. “Baby, my love, my queen, my everything, I could never love anyone else the way I love you. Not in this lifetime, not in the next, not even if the universe resets itself. But our daughter. she’ll have my heart too. Because she’ll be half you.”

Your lip trembled as he pulled you close, peppering frantic kisses over your face like he could erase every doubt. “Don’t you dare think I’d replace you. Don’t you dare,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m clingy, I’m dramatic, I’m insane, but I’m yours. Only yours. You’re stuck with me forever, understand?”