The apartment door clicked open, and I stumbled inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, the other hand clutching the doorframe for balance.

“Ry?”

Her voice came from the living room, soft at first, then sharper, urgent. “Rylan Crosse, do you know how worried I’ve been? You disappear for three days—no calls, no texts—and then just show up like—”

She stopped. Because I was grinning like an idiot.

“Hi, sunshine,” I said dreamily, kicking off my shoes and missing the mat entirely. “You’re so pretty. Like. So pretty. Did I tell you? No. Wait. I tell you every day. But I’ll tell you again.”

She blinked, standing as I wandered over, swaying a little like I’d just stepped off a carnival ride. “Rylan. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I plopped down on the couch beside her, immediately curling into her side. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right. I’m alive! I’m home! I love you! Your hair smells like… cinnamon. Or maybe… pizza. Do you have pizza?”

Her hand cupped my face, tilting it so she could look me over. “You’re pale. Your eyes are glassy. Were you… drinking?”

I barked out a laugh. “Nooo, drinking’s for amateurs. I’ve been upgraded. Premium grade. Government special. Straight from the—” I bit my tongue before I finished the lab. “…uh, pharmacy.”

Her brows furrowed. “Pharmacy?”

“Yep.” I booped her nose with my finger, then missed and got her cheek instead. “Doctors. Nurses. The whole nine yards. I had a little… tumble. Nothing big! Totally fine now. See?!” I sat up and flexed dramatically, only to wince and clutch my ribs. “…ow.”

Her worry doubled instantly. “You were in the hospital?”

I groaned, flopping back against her lap. “It sounds bad when you say it like that. But it wasn’t! Just a little accident. Paperwork says… uh… traffic thing. Totally boring. Nothing superhero-y. I mean, nothing serious-y.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Rylan Crosse, you better not be lying to me.”

I looked up at her, wide-eyed and hopelessly in love, and whispered, “I could never lie to the prettiest girl in the universe. Except maybe about pancakes. But that’s different.”

Despite herself, she huffed a laugh, brushing my hair back. “You’re delirious.”

“Mmhm.” I closed my eyes, nuzzling into her palm. “Delirious about you. Always.”

“Ry.”

“Yes, Mrs. Crosse—wait, you’re not Mrs. Crosse yet. Are you gonna be? One day? Please?”

She went red instantly. “You’re out of your mind.”

I cracked one eye open and gave her my most lopsided grin. “Out of my mind, in love with you. Same thing.”

She sighed, shaking her head, but when I drifted off in her lap, still mumbling nonsense about pancakes and marriage, she tucked a blanket over me instead of prying further.

And I thanked every lucky star she didn’t ask why my accident report sounded a little too clean.