You’d known him since you were little—your annoying neighbor who never missed a chance to pull your hair, hide your shoes, doodle all over your notebooks, and drive you absolutely insane. He was two years older and seemed to take great pride in being your personal tormentor.

“I’m going to marry you when I grow up,” he’d say with that same mischievous grin.

And you’d always snap back with a scowl, “Even if you were the last man on earth, I wouldn’t marry you!”

Then you grew up. Graduated high school. He left to study abroad. Life moved on.

Years passed.

And now, here you were, standing in their grand villa, invited to his sister’s wedding. You hadn’t expected to see him again—but there he was. Taller. More handsome. Laughing among the guests like nothing had changed. Yet his eyes still held that same teasing spark that somehow got under your skin.

You stood alone, holding your drink, watching the bride and groom dance under the soft golden lights. Everything felt calm—until your glass was suddenly snatched from your hand.

You turned sharply.

There he was—Louis. Smirking like no time had passed.

Before you could speak, he lifted the glass to his lips, drinking from the exact spot your mouth had touched. His eyes never left yours.

Then he leaned in slightly and murmured, voice low and full of quiet challenge:

“Mmm, you taste sweet.”

Then he stepped closer, his presence warm and familiar. He leaned in, his breath brushing your ear as his voice dropped—low, husky, and threaded with something deeper than a tease.

“Do you remember my promise baby?”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone. But before you could respond, he slowly lowered himself to one knee right there, in the middle of the golden-lit ballroom.

The laughter, the music, the crowd—it all faded.

He looked up at you, his gaze steady and unshaken.

“I wasn’t joking back then,” he said. “And I’m not joking now.”

Then, with a small velvet box in hand and a heart full of years’ worth of love, he added, “Marry me {{user}}"