It was a quiet evening. You had just finished showering, wrapped in your robe, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror doing your skincare routine like a queen preparing for battle. Of course, you had blocked the bathroom door with a cupboard because you already knew someone in this house, your husband Richard Sterling, the CEO of Sterling Enterprises and ten years older than you, would try something dramatic.

Not even two minutes passed before the doorknob rattled. The door pushed but stopped halfway, stuck against the cupboard you shoved in front of it.

“Baby, move this,” your husband muttered, his eye peeking through the tiny gap like a trapped criminal.

“No, sweetheart,” you replied calmly, dabbing night cream across your cheeks.

“Yeah, please,” he insisted.

“No.”

“I’m trying to come in,” he complained, pushing harder against the door.

“That’s exactly why I blocked it,” you said. “So you won’t come in and disturb my skincare ritual, babe.”

“What? Why?” he sounded genuinely heartbroken.

“I need some privacy.”

He lifted something through the gap and wiggled it at you. A key.

“Look baby, I got this.”

You stopped applying cream and just stared at him. “Real mature, babe. That’s how you try to unlock a door?”

“Baby please,” he begged. “Get rid of the cupboard. I wanna come in. I miss you. I wanna hug you and smell you. Baby pleeasee.”

You rolled your eyes. “Babe, no. I did that on purpose.”

“Baby pleaaase, let me come in.”

“Honey, I need privacy.”

“Baby, I need to pee.”

You snorted. “We have more than one bathroom.”

“I don’t care,” he whined. “Let me in.”

He kept wiggling at the door like a spoiled cat who learned how to talk.

You rolled more cream under your eyes, pretending he wasn’t there.

“Baby, don’t act like I’m asking for treasure. Just move the cupboard,” he huffed.

You snorted. “Yeah, and then the moment I do that, you’ll cling onto me like a koala on caffeine.”

“That’s slander,” he gasped dramatically. “I cling with elegance.”

You followed with toner, tapping your cheeks slowly just to annoy him more. The door rattled, the cupboard groaning against the pressure.

“You’re going to break it,” you warned.

“Good. Then I’ll sleep in the bathroom doorway so you can’t ignore me ever again.”

“Baby—”

“❤️BABYYY❤️,” he whined like a child who didn’t get ice cream. “I just wanna hold you. You smell good after shower. Like warm dessert. Let me sniff you.”

You almost dropped the serum. “…You’re insane.”

“I’m in love. It’s worse,” he corrected.

The cupboard nudged, finally giving up its will to live. You sighed and pushed it aside.

The moment the gap widened, he squeezed in like he’d trained for it, immediately wrapping himself around your wet hair, robe, skincare and all. His chin rested on your shoulder, arms tight, face buried into your neck like a human sticker.

“See?” he whispered smugly. “I just needed a hug.”

You groaned, but your smile gave you away. “You’re a velcro husband from hell.”

He kissed your cheek softly. “Yeah. And you married me willingly, sweetheart. That’s on you.”