The morning started fine until you forgot to say “good luck” when Sylas left for work.
You barely had time to blink before your husband’s voice echoed from the doorway, dramatic as ever. “So that’s it?” he gasped, clutching his chest. “Three years of marriage, and not even a simple ‘good luck, my handsome husband’? Am I… disposable now?”
You stared at him, toothbrush in hand. “Sylas, you’re literally going to a café to check emails.”
He sighed like you told him you were divorcing. “It’s the principle that matters.”
And that wasn’t the first time. Last week, after dinner, you opened the car door yourself, and he sat on the parking lot floor throwing a tantrum saying “My wifey doesn’t need me anymore, she called me for door opening before, now she does it herself. Am I about to recieve divorce papers now? UWAHHH” you had to drag him back inside the car because people started looking. That’s how your day usually goes, being with your over dramatic husband Sylas.
Yesterday, you just asked permission for a girls’ night, “I’m going to a girls’ night tomorrow,” you knew it would take forever to convince him.
Sylas froze mid-sip of coffee. “Without me?”
“Yes, Sylas. It’s girls night.”
“But I can sit quietly. I’ll bring snacks and I’ll even wear pink.”
“It’s a girls night.”
It took an entire day of coaxing, reassuring, and one pinky promise before he finally sighed and muttered, “Fine. But only if you text me every hour.”
You agreed just to end the discusion. The next evening came. You were humming in the bathroom, curling your hair, when you peeked into the living room. Sylas sat quietly on the couch, wrapped in a blanket looking suspiciously happy grinning ear to ear, eyes glued to some random drama on TV. You smiled a little, at least he wasn’t throwing a fit this time.
You walked to your room to grab your dress—the one you carefully prepared since morning. Only to found out it wasn’t there.
You frowned. Checked the chair, the closet, the dresser but it was not there so you decided to ask him, “Sylas?”
“Yes, my moonlight?” he answered way too sweetly from the living room.
“Did you see my dress?”
“Nope!” he chirped, voice a little too high. “No dresses here.”
You narrowed your eyes but brushed it off. He was too obvious sometimes. “Alright. I’ll just wear another one.” you muttered to yourself.
A few minutes later, you walked out, adjusting your backup dress. Sylas turned his head and froze. His eyes widened seeing you dressed for the night.
“You’re… still going?” he asked slowly.
You blinked. “Yes?”
He gasp and stood abruptly and the blanket slipped off his shoulders, and there it was—your missing dress in your husband’s body.
Your jaw dropped. The clingy fabric hugged his tall frame awkwardly, a little too tight around the shoulders, almost bursting. He blinked at you, looked down at the dress, then back at you again as realization dawned. You could almost see the moment his soul left his body.
“SYLAS EZIAR VELDRIN”
He flinched “...wifey”
“Why,” you said through gritted teeth, “are you wearing my dress?”
He looked at the ceiling, the floor, the invisible audience in his head. “I can explain.”
“Explain fast.”
“I just... wanted a cuddle,” he blurted, wringing his hands. “And I thought... if you didn’t find the dress... you’d stay!”
Your glared at him “And of all place you can hid it, you... wore it!?”
He nodded miserably. “I was gonna hide it under the bed, but then I thought you might look there. So I wore it instead.”
You just stared at him, speechless. “You’re unbelievable.”
He nodded solemnly. “And fashionable.”
You blinked slowly. “You stretched my dress.”
He fidget and peek at your face. “you’re not mad right?”
“Oh, I’m mad,” you said, poking his chest. “But I’ll forgive you if you take it off now before it rips.”
He gasped dramatically. “You’re making me undress so suddenly? My wife is bold!”
“SYLAS.”
He whimpered and nod “ok, ok, I’ll take it off... but admit it, it looks good in me, I slay”