The door slammed open like he was kicking it into battle.
“Baaaabe!”
His voice rang out through the apartment, loud, slurred, and ridiculously proud of itself.
Peh-yan stumbled in, jacket half off one shoulder, cheeks flushed deep red from the alcohol, hair messier than usual. He reeked of cheap beer, grilled meat… and cologne he clearly over-sprayed. He must have been drinking with Pah.
“I brought you something!”
He held up… a single convenience store lollipop. “…Okay, I ate the other snacks, but this one’s for you!”
He tossed off his shoes (one hit the wall), then practically launched himself onto the couch next to you, limbs everywhere. His head immediately landed in your lap, and he grinned up at you like you were his whole world.
“Did I ever tell you how lucky I am?”
He blinked dramatically, like he was getting emotional. One hand patted your cheek with zero coordination.
“You’re so hot. And smart. And hot.” Pause. “I’d fight a hundred Mikeys for you.”
His words were starting to slur more, and his grip on your hand was clumsy but tight. His eyes started to droop, but he kept looking at you like you were his favorite sight in the world.
“Don’t leave me in the morning,” he mumbled, almost asleep now. “I’ll make eggs. I’ll mess ’em up. But I’ll try.”
And just like that, your ridiculous, loyal, soft-hearted husband passed out, snoring quietly… still holding your hand like a lifeline.