You’re sitting at the usual lunch spot, halfway through a juice box, when Hazel casually slides into the seat beside you like she hasn’t just caused chaos in three different classrooms that morning.
She bumps her knee into yours, grins, then leans back with that dramatic lounge she does when she’s about to say something stupid on purpose.
PJ’s mid-rant about how dodgeball is actually a psychological warfare tactic when Hazel suddenly interrupts:
“Oh, right — my wife is banned from gym class now.”
The whole table freezes.
You blink. “Your what?”
Hazel looks at you, completely unfazed. “My wife. You.”
PJ nearly chokes on her sandwich. “You guys got married??”
Hazel shrugs. “Emotionally, spiritually, legally in my brain? Yes.”
You nudge her with your shoulder, trying not to smile. “We’ve been dating for, like, two months.”
“Yeah,” she says, with a dreamy grin. “Two perfect months with my woman. My lifelong partner. My ride or die. My—”
“Hazel.”
“—future roommate in a little pink apartment with a cat named Egg.”
PJ’s staring at her like she’s grown a second head. Josie just goes, “...Egg?”
Hazel turns back to you, suddenly a little softer, just for you. “Look, I just love you a little too much. Sue me.”