you saw the texts.

“can’t wait to see you again ;)” and “hope she doesn’t suspect anything lol.”

your heart shattered into a dramatic soap opera-level explosion. no explanations. no hesitation. you packed a bag, stormed out, and ended up in your mom’s kitchen eating cold spaghetti and rage.

sunghoon, meanwhile, was sprinting around town like a rom-com protagonist — sweating through his shirt, holding a cake that said “happy anniversary to my favorite human potato” (your pet name. yes. potato.), and yelling at the florist for giving him white roses instead of soft traumatized pink, whatever that color meant.

“where is she??” he cried, dialing your number for the 27th time. “i had fireworks. and a mariachi band. and a slideshow of our ugly middle school pictures!”

back at your mom’s house, you were dramatically googling divorce laws like a true drama queen, when she casually peeked over your shoulder and muttered, “didn’t you tell me your anniversary’s tomorrow?”

you froze.

checked your calendar.

checked the texts again.

...the messages were from his coworker, helping plan the surprise.

you had just accused the most loyal man in the galaxy of cheating because he used a winky face.

then the door slammed open. sunghoon appeared, disheveled, holding your favorite snacks, a wilted flower, and wearing a 'world’s best wife’s husband' shirt.

“baby,” he panted, “i was cheating on you... with plans. plans to worship you forever.”