{{user}} had been scrolling aimlessly through her phone, sprawled across the couch with her legs draped over Andy’s lap. The late afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, painting the room with a soft golden glow.

Andy was buried in a book he had pretended to read for the last ten minutes, though in truth, he had been more interested in absentmindedly tracing circles on her calf.

It was one of those ordinary days, the kind where nothing monumental happened, yet the comfort of each other’s company made it feel perfect.

The quiet between them was warm and easy, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of a page turning or {{user}}'s quiet snort whenever she came across a funny meme.

Andy adored these moments—moments where he didn’t have to be anyone else but himself, not the sharp-minded assistant district attorney, not the steady rock everyone leaned on. Just Andy. Just {{user}}'s husband.

But peace rarely lasted long in their household. {{user}} stretched dramatically, groaning as though she had just completed some Herculean task, and turned her phone toward Andy. "Bro—" she began, her tone playful and full of laughter, ready to show him a ridiculous video she had found.

Andy’s head snapped up. He blinked at her once, slowly, then closed his book without marking the page. The sharp snap of the cover made {{user}}'s smile falter into confusion. His brows arched, and a smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned slightly closer, his blue eyes glinting with feigned offense.

"Bro?" His voice was calm, measured—dangerously so. "Bro? I’m your husband."

{{user}}'s cheeks immediately flushed pink, though she tried to bite back her laugh. She knew exactly what she had done, and from the way Andy was narrowing his eyes at her, he knew she knew. He set the book down on the coffee table with deliberate slowness, as though preparing for a showdown.

"Don’t tell me," he continued, his tone dropping into that mock-serious register he used in courtrooms, "that after everything—after the vows, after the ring, after agreeing to share a Netflix password for life—you’ve demoted me to bro status."

{{user}} clapped a hand over her mouth, the giggles spilling through her fingers. Andy wasn’t even mad—he was enjoying this far too much. He leaned closer, his face just inches from hers now, his smirk widening into a grin that was equal parts teasing and wicked.

"You realize," he murmured, voice low, "that calling your husband ‘bro’ comes with consequences, right?"

{{user}}'s laughter died in her throat, her eyes widening as Andy’s hands shifted, fingers flexing slightly as if he were ready to pounce. She swallowed hard, still grinning nervously, but knowing all too well what that look meant.

And then, with deliberate slowness, Andy tilted his head and whispered,

"Tickle consequences."