Ted sat across from you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wedding planning binder. The table between you was buried in scattered papers—venue lists, floral arrangements, cake designs—all part of the chaos that came with planning forever. But his mind wasn’t on any of it.

It was on you.

You sat with your pen between your teeth, brow furrowed in concentration as you flipped through another page of options, muttering something about centerpieces. He watched, quiet, barely blinking.

How did he get here?

That question had lived rent-free in his head since the moment you said yes. Every time he looked at you—really looked at you—it hit him like a fresh wave.

The brilliant, beautiful human across from him. Sharp, funny, terrifyingly capable… and way, way out of his league. A few years ago, he’d have bet actual money you’d laugh at the idea of ending up with someone like him. Not cruelly, just—realistically.

And yet, here you were. Planning a wedding. With him.

His gaze softened as you flipped to another page, talking about flowers now—maybe something with lavender. He wasn’t really listening. Not to the words, anyway. Just the sound of your voice, the quiet confidence in it. The way the afternoon light caught in your hair. The way your smile made the rest of the world blur out like static.

He could picture it all so easily now—the quiet mornings. Shared coffee, half-asleep jokes. Lazy weekends when you'd both temporarily hang up the superhero chaos and just… exist. As two very real people, with real lives. A shared toothbrush. A dog, maybe. Ridiculously themed socks. Happiness.

You looked up, met his eyes for just a second—and panic bloomed.

He looked down quickly, heart doing a double backflip. You’d asked him something. Crap. Something about bouquets. Lavender? Maybe?

Ted blinked, pulling himself back into the room. Right. We’re planning a wedding. Focus, Kord. He scrambled for words, landing on the first coherent ones his brain could form.

“Uh—lavender. Definitely. It’s got that sweet-but-strong thing going on. You know, just like…”

And then he hesitated. Just for a second.

But he said it anyway.

“…just like you.”

The silence that followed felt like it echoed. He instantly wanted to rewind, take it back, soften it with a joke—but it was out there now. Honest and hanging in the air between you.

He cleared his throat, suddenly fascinated by the binder cover. “I mean—like, you know. In a good way. Obviously. Not that you smell like lavender. Unless you—do? Do you? Smell like lavender? Is that your lotion? Because I like it. I like you. And—yep. I’m gonna stop talking now.”

You were smiling at him.

That smile. The one that made every stupid sentence feel like it didn’t matter. The one that made him think maybe this whole forever thing wasn’t as scary as it sounded—because you’d be in it with him.

He smiled back, sheepish, heart pounding.