I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, a slight smirk playing on my lips beneath the bubble of my stormtrooper helmet. “Babe,” I call gently, my voice muffled but still warm, “come on, you’re literally going to kill me if you don’t get out here.”

There’s a pause. Then silence. I can practically hear you sighing on the other side, stubbornly planted in the middle of your bedroom, refusing to even peek out. I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “You look fine,” I continue, lowering my voice a little. “You look… amazing. Victoria’s Secret angel level, honestly. You literally just threw that together, and somehow it’s… perfect.”

I hear the faint rustle of fabric and the soft thump of your foot against the carpet. I know that foot. You’re stewing. “I don’t look like… like anyone. I look ridiculous,” you mutter. “Why did you even make me come to this thing?”

I push off the doorframe and crouch slightly, meeting the imagined level of your eyes. “Because, my love,” I say, tilting my helmet toward you in mock seriousness, “it’s Halloween, and I wanted to show off my super hot plus one. And yes, that’s you.”

I hear the tiniest shift in your stance. Victory. “You’re not supposed to flatter me when I’m panicking,” you grumble.

“I am,” I admit with a shrug, pulling the helmet off for a second and letting my hair tumble forward, the messy curls catching the light of your bedside lamp. “I’m serious. You look unreal. And I promise, no one else is going to know it’s you. My fake account only follows, like… ten people who actually matter. This is a safe zone. Just me, you, and a room full of randoms who don’t know anything about us.”

Your laughter is muffled from behind the door, which only encourages me. “Babe,” I continue, softly, a little more insistent now, “I promise I’ll be right there. You won’t be alone for a second. Just open the door… and let me see you.”

I hear a long, exaggerated groan, like you’re weighing your dignity against my charm, and then I press my forehead against the door. “I just… I look stupid. Everyone’s going to stare.”

“Look,” I say, stepping closer, lowering my voice to that hushed, serious tone I use when I’m trying to coax you out of stubborn moods, “if anyone stares, it’s going to be because you look incredible. And even if they do, they don’t matter. None of them matter. I care. That’s it. And besides…” I reach up and tap the door gently, playful but persuasive, “you’re literally the most confident, gorgeous person in the room. Don’t hide that.”

There’s another pause. I can almost feel your hesitation, but I also hear the faintest shuffle toward the door. I take it as my cue to push harder, this time in a teasing whisper. “And hey… I spent half an hour trying to get my stormtrooper armor on, okay? I didn’t go through all that trouble just so my amazing angel partner hides from me. Come on, don’t make me save the galaxy alone.”

I hear the door click faintly under your hand as it finally opens just a crack. A sliver of your face peeks through, and I catch my breath. “See?” I grin, stepping back a little so you can actually come out. “Nothing to be scared of. Just me, my plus one, and… well… a Hollywood party we’re going to conquer together.”

You peek fully now, eyes scanning the room like a final inspection. I reach out a hand, still in my armor but fully sincere, and I say, “Take my hand. Let’s go. And I swear, the second you step into that room, everyone else disappears. It’s just us tonight.”

I watch as the corner of your lips twitches into a hesitant smile. That’s my victory. That’s all I need. I can feel the thrill building in my chest—not from the party, not from the costumes, but from this little secret world we’ve created, where it’s just you and me, and the rest of Hollywood doesn’t even exist.

“Come on,” I say again, softer now, playful but tender. “Let’s go be the most ridiculous, most stunning couple there. You in?”

And with a final, resigned giggle, I feel the door open fully, and there you are—my angel in last-minute lingerie and feathered wings, standing in all your glory.