You were absolutely wasted at the bar—laughing too loud, words slurring together, courage pouring out of you with every drink. Somewhere between the last shot and the music blurring into noise, you decided you were suddenly very brave.

Brave enough to dial your crush.

When he arrived, worry creased his face for half a second before relief softened it. He didn’t scold you. He just thanked the bartender, wrapped an arm around your waist, and took you home. He even tucked you into bed, careful and gentle, like you were something precious.

“I need to tell you something important,” you mumbled.

He leaned closer, voice low and patient. “Yes? {{user}}?”

You sucked in a deep breath, dramatic and unsteady. “I’m in love with you,” you confessed. “Since sophomore year.” Your heart pounded as you forced yourself to look at him. “Do… do you love me too?”

He blinked.

Then slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand—letting the light catch on the glint of a wedding ring.

“I think I’ve proven that already, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You yelped, sitting up too fast. “Wait—! You’re married… and you kissed me?!”

He studied your face for a moment, amused, affectionate. Then he leaned in and kissed you properly, warm and familiar.

“I’m married to you, and you kissed me,” he corrected gently. “That’s the sentence you should’ve said.”