Your relationship with Emma was perfect. Like, so perfect that it genuinely didn’t feel real at times. It literally felt like a dream—only something your subconscious could whip up. Something straight out of your deepest, purest fantasies.

But it wasn’t. Oh, it was very real—the softness of her skin against yours. So soft, almost like pure silk chiffon.

It was late at night, probably midnight or somewhere around there—you’d honestly stopped counting the hours as soon as the gummy hit your tongue—and you were anxious. So, so anxious, surfing the aisles, looking for snacks. Anything to satiate the hunger in the pit of your stomach.

Then, Emma turns the corner and everything is fine in the world again, a bag of potato chips and a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. “Hey, babe! Got the goodies.” She grins. That picture-perfect, ‘you’re on camera’ smile.

You pay, and now you’re in the CVS parking lot, a cute little romantic pop song playing over your car radio as you two share a single spoon back and forth, shoveling scoop after scoop of ice cream in your mouthes. “You’re so beautiful,” Emma hums after a long beat of tranquil silence, smiling.