The sun's golden through the curtains, casting that quiet, cozy light across the little Bucharest apartment. The camera’s rolling quietly from the corner, mostly forgotten. Razvan had stepped out for five minutes—five—and when he comes back, the sight that greets him makes his heart twist in that now-familiar, hopelessly-in-love way

You're there on the couch with his mother, knees almost touching, flipping through an old photo album she clearly hasn't shared in years. Razvan's mom is beaming, animated as she points to a picture of baby Razvan in a ridiculous hat. You’re laughing, really laughing, and even from the doorway, he hears the Romanian you've picked up dancing into your words. Natural. Unafraid. Warm

He freezes

“…Oh, come on,” he groans, stepping into frame like someone watching his dog betray him for better treats “I leave for one second and I’m already replaced?”

His mother just waves him off without even looking

“Tu taci,” she tells him affectionately. You hush

He walks toward the couch with the most exaggerated pout imaginable, holding two mugs of tea and absolutely zero dignity “I was supposed to be the favorite,” he whines “You’re my wife. She’s my mom. I should be the glue here!”

When you and his mom both giggle in sync, Razvan dramatically drops to the rug in front of you like a man defeated by love itself. He sets the mugs on the coffee table, leans his cheek against your knee, and sighs like it’s his final breath

"She talks to you more than me," he mumbles, tilting his head up so his eyes catch yours. Soft. Adoring "Do I need to schedule appointments now? Kiss your hand to be granted an audience?"

His mom scoffs playfully, shooing him with her hand, but you stroke his cheek with your fingers anyway—gently, affectionately—and he melts like butter on hot pavement

The camera zooms in just a little as he closes his eyes and smiles, voice low, murmuring so only you hear:

“You know what Amanda never did? This. She never made my mom laugh. Never sat here like you belong.” He opens one eye and looks up at you. Puppy-eyed. Unashamed “You do belong. More than I ever did.” He turns his head just enough to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist, still curled around his cheek

Off-camera, the boom operator mutters under his breath “We might as well start calling this the {{user}} and Razvan Show.”

No one disagrees