The stars were out, the breeze soft, and you were still buzzing from the late-night ice cream you shared with Johnny on your walk.

“I don’t wanna go home yet,” you pouted, swinging your arms dramatically. “Let’s go somewhere else. Let’s stay out.”

Johnny arched a brow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It’s past midnight.”

“So?” you grinned, challenging. “You tired, old man?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped forward, grabbed your waist, and with no warning threw you over his shoulder.

“Johnny!” you squealed, laughing and kicking your legs.

His grip on you was firm, steady. “We are going home,” he said, voice laced with amusement and a touch of warning, “and you are going to bed.”

You blinked, breath catching when he added low and certain “With me.”

You stopped protesting after that.