☆.•. just a girl☆.°.

The door creaks open.

And there you are.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor like a gremlin in pajama shorts, fairy lights draped around the closet rod, a full Christmas Eve spread in front of you. Indian food containers cracked open, the smell of butter chicken, chicken tikka masala, samosas, tandoori chicken and more spices filling the air. And, of course, a pint of mango ice cream sweating beside you.

Lewis just stares.

Then blinks.

Then laughs—full, disbelieving, hands-on-his-knees laughter.

“Not you eating Christmas Eve dinner without me,” he says, shaking his head. “You naughty little elf.”

You grin, mouth full. “You took too long.”

He crouches in front of you, eyes warm and amused. “You really hid in the closet to eat all this?”

“You always steal my food”

“That’s because you never guard them properly,” he says, immediately reaching for the naan.

You gasp. “Hey!”

Lewis takes a bite anyway, hums dramatically. “Okay, wow. Worth the crime.”

He slides down next to you, shoulder bumping yours, taking a spoonful of paneer butter masala and then—because he’s Lewis—feeding you some too.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he murmurs. “Next year we’re doing this together. No hiding.”

CHARLES

Charles is already tucked into bed, glasses off, hair messy, waiting for you.

When you don’t come back, he peeks at the door.

“Amore?”

Nothing.

He gets up, mild panic setting in. He checks everywhere—bathroom, kitchen, balcony.

Then he hears a fork scrape.

“Y/N?” he calls, opening the bedroom door. “Amore?”

When he opens the closet, his jaw actually drops.

You’re sitting on a pile of sweaters, fork in hand, pasta bowl resting on your lap and LEC ice cream already half gone.

Charles puts a hand over his heart.

“You—” he laughs, incredulous. “You are joking.”

You look up innocently. “What?”

He steps closer, eyes wide. “Not you eating Christmas Eve dinner without me,” he says, voice dripping with mock betrayal. “You naughty elf.”

“You were taking forever in the shower!”

“I was trying to smell good for you!”

He kneels down, immediately stealing a bite of chicken Alfredo. His eyes close. “Oh no. This is very good.”

“That’s what you get for doubting me.”

Charles shifts so he’s sitting with you, back against the closet wall, stealing fries, feeding you naan, laughing when you try to block him.

“If my mother finds out I missed this,” he says dramatically, “she will disown me.”

He kisses your cheek, soft and warm. “But I forgive you. Just don’t hide food from me again.”

He takes the ice cream next. “Sharing is love.”

MAX

Max notices immediately.

You’re never this quiet.

“Y/N?” he calls, already suspicious.

Max already knows.

He opens the closet door without calling your name.

“You’re in here, aren’t you?”

Caught.

You freeze mid-bite, spoon hovering over a container of chicken lo mein.

Max stares at the scene. Chinese food containers all over with fried rice, dumplings, egg rolls and more. You, sitting like a raccoon caught in a pantry.

“…Wow,” he deadpans. “Not you eating Christmas Eve dinner without me.”

You try to defend yourself. “You said you weren’t hungry!”

“I lied,” he says flatly. “Obviously.”

He leans against the doorframe, smirking. “You naughty elf. Hiding food like this.”

You shrug. “TikTok made me do it.”

He sighs, then crouches down, already grabbing a fork. “Move.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No,” he says, stealing a massive bite. “I’m offended you didn’t get more.”

He sits next to you, legs stretched out, taking dumplings and egg rolls like it’s his birthright.

“This is actually kind of genius,” he mutters. “Next year we do this again. But I get first bite.”

You smile as he nudges your knee with his. “Deal.”

OSCAR

Oscar is confused before he’s amused.

“Y/N?” he calls, wandering the apartment. “Why does it smell like…a resturant?”

When he opens the closet, he just stops.

“Oh.”

You look up, mouth full of burger. “Hi.”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Not you eating Christmas Eve dinner without me.”

You smile sweetly. “You said you were gaming.”

“I paused it for you!”

He crouches down, eyes flicking over the spread. “You naughty elf.”

Oscar reaches for the chicken tenders, tasting it, nodding seriously. “Okay. This is very good.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No,” he says, sitting beside you. “But I am hungry.”

He shares bites with you quietly, shoulder pressed to yours, occasionally stealing fries and pretending not to notice when you film him.

“This is actually kind of nice,” he says. “Just us. And too much food.”

He smiles shyly. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

LANDO

“BABE?”

“Y/N?”

“Okay no this isn’t funny.”

He checks everywhere, voice getting louder.

Then—bag rustle.

Closet door flies open.

Lando gasps before he even speaks.

“EXCUSE ME?”

You’re caught red-handed, spoon halfway to your mouth.

Lando bursts out laughing. “Really! Eating Christmas Eve dinner without me!”

You grin. “Surprise.”

“You naughty elf!” he says, dramatically clutching his chest. “I go get snacks for us and THIS is what you do?”

He dives into the closet with you, grabbing the burger. “You don’t hide food from me.”

“That’s my burger!”

“Was,” he corrects, taking a huge bite.

You both laugh, food everywhere, ice cream melting between you.

“This is actually elite,” Lando says. “Closet dinner. Very festive.”

He feeds you fries, you steal his fork, and he records a clip immediately.

“My girlfriend hid in the closet to eat Christmas dinner without me,” he announces. “And I still love her.”

CARLOS

Carlos notices instantly when you don’t come back.

He checks everywhere, concern etched into his face.

“Cariño?” he calls, already stressed.

Then he hears it.

A crinkle.

You chewing.

Carlos slowly opens the closet.

“Y/N!”

You look up, already smiling.

He sees the food and laughs. “Not you eating Christmas Eve dinner without me,” he says, mock offended. “You naughty elf.”

“You were on the phone forever!”

“For my family!”

“And I was hungry!”

He kneels down, kissing your forehead before stealing a bite of everything. “Okay, okay. I forgive you.”

He sits with you, sharing food, feeding you ice cream with a grin.

“This is our new tradition,” he says softly. “But next time… no hiding.”

He squeezes your hand. “I want to eat with you.”

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Poor baby.

He needed a reset.

So you planned one.

Breakfast Surprise

You slip out of bed quietly and make him breakfast—French toast, fruit, and his tea exactly how he likes it. When you slip back into the bedroom, you gently press a kiss to his cheek.

“Lew… baby,” you whisper softly.

He stirs, eyelashes fluttering, face scrunching in a way that makes your heart melt. “Mm… morning, love.”

“I made breakfast for you,” you say.

His eyes open a bit more. “You did?” His voice cracks a little from sleep. “For me?”

“For my hardworking man? Every time.”

He gives a small sleepy smile—the kind only you ever get to see. “C’mere.”

You sit on the bed and he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tight before sitting up to eat. He takes his first bite and closes his eyes like he’s tasting heaven.

“Baby… this is amazing,” he hums. “You spoil me.”

“Good,” you grin. “I plan on spoiling you all day.”

He raises a brow. “Do I wanna know what that means?”

“Nope. Just get dressed.”

Lewis keeps giving you suspicious side-eyes in the car as you drive him to the spa.

“Are you taking me to get kidnapped?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest. “You’re getting pampered today.”

He smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Oh? So I’m your little treat today?”

“You’re always my little treat,” you fire back.

He laughs—deep and warm—and the sound alone makes this whole thing worth it.

Inside the spa, the staff greets you with warm smiles and leads you both to a private couples’ room. Lewis slips into the fluffy robe and looks at you like he might cry.

“You really did all this?”

You kiss his cheek. “You deserve to relax.”

When the massage starts, you hear him let out the softest, most relieved groan.

“Baby, I needed this,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“I know, Lew.”

“My shoulders… oh my god…” he says as the masseuse presses deeper. “I swear this weekend aged me five years.”

You laugh softly. “Then get younger.”

“Trying,” he says dramatically. “My girlfriend’s forcing me.”

Later during facials, he keeps peeking over at you with those big brown eyes.

“You’re enjoying this,” you whisper.

“I’m enjoying you,” he murmurs.

The spa lets you and Lewis into a private hot tub room, and the moment he sinks into the warm water, his head lolls back.

“Thank you, baby,” he sighs. “Truly. I needed this. I’m so grateful for you.”

You move closer, sitting in his lap and straddling him. His hands find your waist instantly.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Never better,” he whispers before you start kissing all over his face—his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.

He giggles like a man who hasn’t giggled in weeks.

“Mm, come here,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. The kind that steals a breath from both of you.

You smile against his lips. “I’m grateful for you too, baby.”

You lean in, whispering, “But the day’s not over yet. Let’s wash up and go home.”

His brows rise. “Oh? There’s more?”

“Yup.” You give him a smirk. “Come on.”

Back home, you take Lewis’s hand and guide him to the bathroom. He pauses at the doorway.

Because everything is laid out: your curl-care products, a deep conditioning mask, a wide-tooth comb, hair oils, clips, towels—all neatly arranged.

He blinks. “What’s… going on?”

“Lewis,” you say gently, stepping closer. “I’m gonna wash and braid your hair.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Baby, you don’t have to do all that.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But I want to. You take care of me so much. Let me take care of you.”

He stares at you—those soft boba eyes melting right into your soul.

“…Okay,” he whispers.

You beam. “Yay!! Sit.”

You put on some R&B, a little old school — Mario, Ginuwine, Usher, 112 —and he sits in the chair, leaning back into the sink as you begin wetting his hair.

You apply Cécred detangling lotion first, working your fingers through gently.

He hums with pleasure. “You have magic hands.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease.

“Doesn’t make it less true,” he says.

You rinse, apply clarifying shampoo, massage his scalp until he nearly melts out of the chair, then rinse again. You work in the deep conditioner, comb it through carefully—extra gentle because your man is tender-headed—and place the heat cap on him.

“Ten to fifteen minutes,” you say.

He stretches, smiling lazily. “Feels nice, babe.”

The two of you talk about nothing and everything. Sometimes you’re quiet, and it’s peaceful—just the music and the soft hum of the heat cap.

You wash your hands and ask, “Indian food tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says instantly.

You laugh and grab your phone to order your usuals.

When you turn back around, Lewis is staring at you.

“What?” you laugh.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “Just… admiring the love of my life.”

You smack his arm playfully. “You’re too cute.”

“No—you are.”

You melt into his arms, swaying to Best You Ever Had by John Legend. His voice softens against your ear.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

Your heart squeezes.

You finally rinse out the mask, shampoo once more, condition again, and comb it all out. By the time you finish, the doorbell rings.

“Perfect timing,” you grin.

You wrap his hair in your curl-friendly towel and hand it to him. “Dry as much as you can, okay?”

“Yes, chef.”

You get the food, plate everything, and call, “Lew, come eat!”

He joins you on the couch, and you both eat happily—warm, spicy, comforting Indian food after a perfect day.

When you finish, he takes your plates to the sink and washes them.

You grab your gel, oil, and comb. “Lew, come here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says playfully.

You place a pillow on the floor in front of the couch.

“Sit.”

He sits between your legs obediently, leaning back against your knees. You run your fingers through his damp curls.

“You want a design or straight backs?”

He shrugs lightly. “Freestyle for me, pretty girl.”

You smile. “Okay.”

You get to work—sectioning, oiling, parting, braiding with extra care because you love him and he’s tender-headed and you refuse to hurt your man. The movie plays (Captain America: Civil War), and Lewis occasionally leans his head back to kiss your knee or mumble:

“You’re so gentle… thank you, baby.”

It makes your chest feel warm every time.

When you finish, you tap his shoulder. “Go look.”

He stands, walks to the bathroom, and then—

“OH SHOOT!!” he yells. “My wife DID THAT!”

You burst out laughing.

He runs back, grinning ear to ear. “Baby, this looks FIRE!”

He flops onto you dramatically on the couch, covering your face in kisses.

“Thank you for today, baby,” he murmurs between kisses. “Truly. I appreciate this. And I appreciate you. And I love you so, so, so, so much.”

You giggle, hugging him close as he continues peppering kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, and nose.

And the moment is soft.

Tender.

Perfect.

A day made just for him.

A day that ends with the man you love holding you like you hung the stars.

“I just— I don’t know what to do anymore,” you sniff dramatically. “I feel so conflicted.”

On the other end: “...Babe?” He sounds concerned already. “Babe, are you okay? Hello?”

You keep going. “I think… I think I’m losing interest…”

“WHAT?!” Lewis’s voice spikes instantly. “HELLO?! Y/N?! BABE?!”

You hear shuffling, then the car door slam. “Y/N M/N L/N! YOU ARE NOT LOSING INTEREST— I’M YOUR FIANCÉ! HELLO?! WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?! IS THAT YOUR MOM?! YOUR SIBLING?! MOM, TELL HER SHE’S CRAZY!”

You have to bury your face in a pillow to muffle your laughter as he continues panicking. “BABE PICK UP THE PHONE, I’M COMING HOME RIGHT NOW, MISSY, DON’T YOU MOVE!”

You finally “answer,” giggling through your words. “Hi baby…”

He goes dead silent. “...You’re kidding me.”

You’re crying laughing now. “You should’ve heard yourself— ‘MOM HELP ME!’”

He sighs, a mix of relief and disbelief. “You’re lucky I love you, woman.”

You grin. “Love me enough to not lose interest?”

He laughs. “Never again, you menace.”

Charles

You’re bored and decide chaos is the cure. You hit call on Charles’s name and start your fake crying performance.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore… I’m so confused.”

On the other end, Charles’s voice is instantly alarmed. “Bébé? Bébé?! Are you okay?!”

You sniff loudly. “I think I’m losing interest…”

“WHAT?!” He yells so loud you almost break character. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?! Y/N, I CAN HEAR YOU! WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?! IS THAT YOUR MOTHER?! PUT HER ON THE PHONE!”

You’re biting your lip, trembling with laughter.

He’s still going: “Y/N M/N L/N, YOU LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW, YOU ARE NOT LOSING INTEREST, WE ARE ENGAGED! ENGAGED! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

You can hear him pacing. “Oh my god, I’m coming home— I’m coming right now, I don’t care, I’m getting in the car.”

You break into laughter, finally answering. “Babe, relax! I was kidding!”

He goes silent. “...You were what?”

You’re wheezing now. “You sounded like a telenovela character!”

He exhales dramatically. “You almost gave me a heart attack! Mon dieu, you are impossible.”

You grin. “But you love me.”

He groans. “Unfortunately for me— yes.”

Max

You start your little prank while Max is at the simulator, phone in your pocket, fake sniffling. “I just don’t know… I think I’m losing interest.”

Instantly: “What?” His voice goes sharp. “HELLO?! BABE?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE LOSING INTEREST?!”

You hear the simulator creak, then a slam. “WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?! Y/N M/N L/N PICK UP THE PHONE RIGHT NOW!”

You can practically hear him pacing like a madman. “I’m serious! THIS ISN’T FUNNY! IS THAT YOUR MOM?! MOM, PLEASE TELL HER SHE’S LOST HER MIND!”

You can’t take it — you burst out laughing mid-sentence.

“...Wait.” He stops. “You’re laughing?! Are you kidding me right now?!”

You’re in tears. “You should’ve seen yourself! ‘MOM HELP ME!’”

He’s trying not to laugh too. “I was about to drive home in my socks, Y/N.”

You giggle. “Aww, my dramatic Dutchman.”

He mutters under his breath, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Oscar

You hit record, pretending to sob. “I don’t know, I just feel… lost. Conflicted.”

Oscar answers instantly, calm but worried. “Babe? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You sniff. “I think… I think I’m losing interest.”

“Wait— WHAT?!” His voice cracks so hard it echoes. “HELLO?! Y/N?! WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?! IS THAT YOUR MOM?! YOUR BFF?! MOM, PLEASE— TELL HER SHE’S LOST IT! AND IF ITS YOUR THERAPIST, TELL HER THE SAME THING!”

You can hear him shuffling, grabbing his keys. “No, no, no, I’m coming. I’m coming home right now. Don’t move!”

You’re literally crying from holding in laughter.

“Y/N M/N L/N, PICK UP THE PHONE, BABY!”

You finally answer mid-laugh. “Hi, baby.”

Silence. Then: “...You didn’t.”

You giggle uncontrollably. “You panicked so hard!”

He exhales, laughing weakly now. “You’re such a menace.”

You grin. “Admit it though, it was funny.”

He laughs softly. “You owe me dinner for that.”

“Fine. You’ll live.”

“Barely.”

Lando

You call him while he’s gaming, fake sobbing dramatically. “I don’t know, I’m just… conflicted.”

“Babe?” he says immediately. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I think… I think I’m losing interest.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then: “WHAT?! NO, NO YOU’RE NOT— Y/N M/N L/N, YOU’RE LITERALLY MY FIANCÉE! HELLO?!”

You can hear him yelling into his headset. “GUYS, I’M LEAVING, MY GIRL JUST SAID SHE’S LOSING INTEREST— MUM! MUM COME HERE!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking.

“HELLO?! Y/N?! ARE YOU TALKING TO SOMEONE?! IS IT YOUR MUM?! MUM, TELL HER SHE’S LOST IT! BABE, PICK UP THE PHONE!”

You finally answer between laughs. “Hi, Lando.”

He goes silent. “...You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did,” you wheeze. “You were calling your mum!”

He groans, dragging his hand down his face. “You’re evil. You’re so evil.”

You giggle. “You love me though.”

He sighs. “Yeah, unfortunately. You’re lucky you’re hilarious.”

Carlos

You press call, fake crying softly. “I don’t know… I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Carlos’s voice comes through immediately, serious and worried. “Amor? Amor, what’s wrong?”

You take a shaky breath. “I think I’m losing interest.”

Instant chaos. “¿QUE?! WHAT?! ARE YOU CRAZY?! Y/N M/N L/N YOU ARE MY FIANCÉE!”

You bite your tongue, holding back laughter.

“HELLO?! WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?! IS THAT YOUR MOTHER?! MAMA! YOUR BFF?! YOUR SIBLING?! WHOEVER YOU ARE TELL HER SHE’S CRAZY! MAMA HELP ME, SHE’S LOST HER MIND!”

You can hear him walking fast— probably already grabbing his jacket. “I’M ON MY WAY TO YOU, MISSY! I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON BUT YOU’RE GOING TO EXPLAIN IT!”

You finally answer, laughing so hard tears roll down your face. “Carlos, stop, stop, it’s a joke!”

He goes completely silent for a second. “...You’re joking?”

You’re wheezing now. “You yelled for your mom!”

He groans, half laughing. “Ay dios mío, I thought my world was ending!”

You grin. “Aw, you love me that much?”

He sighs but smiles. “Sí, too much for my own good.”

You kiss the phone. “Then mission accomplished.”

Poor baby.

He needed a reset.

So you planned one.

Breakfast Surprise

You slip out of bed quietly and make him breakfast—French toast, fruit, and his tea exactly how he likes it. When you slip back into the bedroom, you gently press a kiss to his cheek.

“Lew… baby,” you whisper softly.

He stirs, eyelashes fluttering, face scrunching in a way that makes your heart melt. “Mm… morning, love.”

“I made breakfast for you,” you say.

His eyes open a bit more. “You did?” His voice cracks a little from sleep. “For me?”

“For my hardworking man? Every time.”

He gives a small sleepy smile—the kind only you ever get to see. “C’mere.”

You sit on the bed and he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tight before sitting up to eat. He takes his first bite and closes his eyes like he’s tasting heaven.

“Baby… this is amazing,” he hums. “You spoil me.”

“Good,” you grin. “I plan on spoiling you all day.”

He raises a brow. “Do I wanna know what that means?”

“Nope. Just get dressed.”

Lewis keeps giving you suspicious side-eyes in the car as you drive him to the spa.

“Are you taking me to get kidnapped?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest. “You’re getting pampered today.”

He smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Oh? So I’m your little treat today?”

“You’re always my little treat,” you fire back.

He laughs—deep and warm—and the sound alone makes this whole thing worth it.

Inside the spa, the staff greets you with warm smiles and leads you both to a private couples’ room. Lewis slips into the fluffy robe and looks at you like he might cry.

“You really did all this?”

You kiss his cheek. “You deserve to relax.”

When the massage starts, you hear him let out the softest, most relieved groan.

“Baby, I needed this,” he mumbles into the pillow.

“I know, Lew.”

“My shoulders… oh my god…” he says as the masseuse presses deeper. “I swear this weekend aged me five years.”

You laugh softly. “Then get younger.”

“Trying,” he says dramatically. “My girlfriend’s forcing me.”

Later during facials, he keeps peeking over at you with those big brown eyes.

“You’re enjoying this,” you whisper.

“I’m enjoying you,” he murmurs.

The spa lets you and Lewis into a private hot tub room, and the moment he sinks into the warm water, his head lolls back.

“Thank you, baby,” he sighs. “Truly. I needed this. I’m so grateful for you.”

You move closer, sitting in his lap and straddling him. His hands find your waist instantly.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Never better,” he whispers before you start kissing all over his face—his forehead, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose.

He giggles like a man who hasn’t giggled in weeks.

“Mm, come here,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. The kind that steals a breath from both of you.

You smile against his lips. “I’m grateful for you too, baby.”

You lean in, whispering, “But the day’s not over yet. Let’s wash up and go home.”

His brows rise. “Oh? There’s more?”

“Yup.” You give him a smirk. “Come on.”

Back home, you take Lewis’s hand and guide him to the bathroom. He pauses at the doorway.

Because everything is laid out: your curl-care products, a deep conditioning mask, a wide-tooth comb, hair oils, clips, towels—all neatly arranged.

He blinks. “What’s… going on?”

“Lewis,” you say gently, stepping closer. “I’m gonna wash and braid your hair.”

He immediately shakes his head. “Baby, you don’t have to do all that.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But I want to. You take care of me so much. Let me take care of you.”

He stares at you—those soft boba eyes melting right into your soul.

“…Okay,” he whispers.

You beam. “Yay!! Sit.”

You put on some R&B, a little old school — Mario, Ginuwine, Usher, 112 —and he sits in the chair, leaning back into the sink as you begin wetting his hair.

You apply Cécred detangling lotion first, working your fingers through gently.

He hums with pleasure. “You have magic hands.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tease.

“Doesn’t make it less true,” he says.

You rinse, apply clarifying shampoo, massage his scalp until he nearly melts out of the chair, then rinse again. You work in the deep conditioner, comb it through carefully—extra gentle because your man is tender-headed—and place the heat cap on him.

“Ten to fifteen minutes,” you say.

He stretches, smiling lazily. “Feels nice, babe.”

The two of you talk about nothing and everything. Sometimes you’re quiet, and it’s peaceful—just the music and the soft hum of the heat cap.

You wash your hands and ask, “Indian food tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says instantly.

You laugh and grab your phone to order your usuals.

When you turn back around, Lewis is staring at you.

“What?” you laugh.

“Nothing,” he murmurs. “Just… admiring the love of my life.”

You smack his arm playfully. “You’re too cute.”

“No—you are.”

You melt into his arms, swaying to Best You Ever Had by John Legend. His voice softens against your ear.

“I love you so much,” he whispers.

Your heart squeezes.

You finally rinse out the mask, shampoo once more, condition again, and comb it all out. By the time you finish, the doorbell rings.

“Perfect timing,” you grin.

You wrap his hair in your curl-friendly towel and hand it to him. “Dry as much as you can, okay?”

“Yes, chef.”

You get the food, plate everything, and call, “Lew, come eat!”

He joins you on the couch, and you both eat happily—warm, spicy, comforting Indian food after a perfect day.

When you finish, he takes your plates to the sink and washes them.

You grab your gel, oil, and comb. “Lew, come here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says playfully.

You place a pillow on the floor in front of the couch.

“Sit.”

He sits between your legs obediently, leaning back against your knees. You run your fingers through his damp curls.

“You want a design or straight backs?”

He shrugs lightly. “Freestyle for me, pretty girl.”

You smile. “Okay.”

You get to work—sectioning, oiling, parting, braiding with extra care because you love him and he’s tender-headed and you refuse to hurt your man. The movie plays (Captain America: Civil War), and Lewis occasionally leans his head back to kiss your knee or mumble:

“You’re so gentle… thank you, baby.”

It makes your chest feel warm every time.

When you finish, you tap his shoulder. “Go look.”

He stands, walks to the bathroom, and then—

“OH SHOOT!!” he yells. “My wife DID THAT!”

You burst out laughing.

He runs back, grinning ear to ear. “Baby, this looks FIRE!”

He flops onto you dramatically on the couch, covering your face in kisses.

“Thank you for today, baby,” he murmurs between kisses. “Truly. I appreciate this. And I appreciate you. And I love you so, so, so, so much.”

You giggle, hugging him close as he continues peppering kisses all over your cheeks, forehead, and nose.

And the moment is soft.

Tender.

Perfect.

A day made just for him.

A day that ends with the man you love holding you like you hung the stars.

“It’s not! I swear!” you insist, grabbing his hand and dragging him in. “Just do it with me.”

He laughs. “Alright, alright, show me what to do.”

You both start the easy part—shoulders bouncing, arms swaying, snapping on beat. He is focused, tongue between his teeth like he’s learning choreography for a music video.

Then the chorus hits.

You break away and start riding the air like the girl in the TikTok—hips rolling, hair flipping, doing the exaggerated side-to-side grind. He freezes mid-snap, eyes going wide.

“Oh—oh wow—okay—”

He is not expecting that. He looks like someone just unplugged his brain.

And that’s when it happens.

Your heel directly lands on his toe.

Not lightly. Not gently.

FULL BODY WEIGHT.

He lets out the most offended gasp known to mankind.

“OW—OW—Y/N—WAIT—MY TOE!”

He drops to the floor dramatically like he’s been shot, holding his foot. “Babe. Babe. I think it’s broken. I think you broke my toe.”

You burst out laughing. “No, I didn’t! You’re being extra! Babe, get up! You big baby!”

He holds up a hand like he’s saying his last words. “I can’t. Leave me here.”

You pull him up and he limps around the living room, groaning with betrayal while you can’t stop laughing.

You hear it before you turn around.

“PPFFFFFTTT— OH MY—”

GAG.

GAG.

SPIT.

COUGH.

“OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT?!”

You whip around, trying so hard not to burst into laughter. “BABE?! OMG WHAT’S WRONG?!”

He’s coughing like someone pepper-sprayed his soul.

“What IS THAT MONSTROSITY YOU’RE DRINKING?!”

You blink innocently. “Drinking? I’m not drink—”

You pause. Look at your cup.

Look at him.

Back at the cup.

“Oh my god… did you drink from my cup?”

“YES,” he snaps, wiping his tongue on his sleeve. “WHAT IS IT?!”

You inhale dramatically. “BABE… that was my pee. I was going to take a pregnancy test!”

Lewis freezes.

Completely still.

Statue.

A marble art piece carved by devastation.

Then—

“WHAT?!?!?!”

His voice cracks so hard it echoes.

He starts dry-heaving AGAIN immediately.

“I—NO—YOU’RE LYING—THAT WAS— NOOOO— THAT WAS NOT YOUR PEE—OH GOD—”

He sprints to the sink. Soap. Water. More water. More soap. He’s brushing his teeth with dish soap at this point.

“Lewis—Lewis—baby stop—BABE—”

You’re laughing so hard you’re wheezing.

Finally you grab his arm. “Baby, it was a prank! It was just apple juice with salt and vinegar!”

He collapses forward onto the counter with relief, forehead down.

“Oh thank GOD. I thought that was how I die. I thought that was my last day on Earth.”

You kiss his shoulder. “So you’re not mad?”

“Oh I’m mad,” he mutters. “But I’m also alive, so… small wins.”

CHARLES

You leave your cup on the kitchen island, minding your business.

Charles walks in, humming, swinging the refrigerator open—

Then spots the cup.

“Oh a drink!”

And before you can even re-enter the room—

He takes a full. Mouthful. Sip.

Instant regret.

“PUH—PUHHHHH—BLEUGH—WHAT—WHAT IS THIS?!?!”

He’s shaking his head like a dog that licked a lemon.

Gagging violently.

Eyes watering.

Tongue sticking out.

You rush in, covering your giggle. “BABE OMG WHAT HAPPENED?”

He points at the cup like it personally bullied him.

“What is that disgusting drink?! Why would you drink this?!”

“Wait—” you gasp. “Charles. Charles please tell me you didn’t drink from my cup.”

“I DID!! WHAT IS IT?!”

You put a hand over your mouth.

“Baby… that was my pee. My doctor needed it today.”

He freezes mid-gag.

Turns to you slowly.

“WHAT?!” he screams.

Voice cracks like a teenager.

“NO NO NO NO—TELL ME YOU’RE JOKING—Y/N—I—OH MY GOD—”

He grabs a banana. Bites it.

Spits it out.

Grabs a cookie. Eats it.

Spits it out.

He’s trying everything to cleanse his soul.

“TELL ME IT’S NOT PEE,” he begs dramatically.

“Baby—”

“PLEASE.”

You finally break. “It’s a prank! It was apple juice and vinegar!”

He collapses onto the couch immediately.

Face first.

Arms spread.

“Oh thank god. I thought my career was over.”

MAX

You leave your cup next to Max’s sim setup.

Mistake number one.

He enters, sees it, shrugs, drinks it—

BAD DECISION.

He spits it right back out—

On the floor.

On the wall.

A little on himself.

“WHAT—WHAT—WHAT THE—BEBEHBEBH—OH MY GOD—IT’S SO SOUR—WHAT IS THIS?!”

You walk in, covering your laughter. “BABE WHAT’S WRONG?!”

He points aggressively at the cup.

“WHY DO YOU DRINK THIS? THIS IS A CHEMICAL.”

“Max… did you drink from my cup?”

“YES. WHAT IS IT?!”

“…baby… that was my pee. I was gonna take a pregnancy test.”

He stands completely still.

Then:

“NO.”

He shakes his head.

“NOPE. NOPE.”

More gagging.

He walks in a circle.

“NO WAY. OH GOD. I NEED A SHOWER.”

He sprints to the bathroom.

Turns on the shower fully clothed.

You go in. Laughing. “Max! It’s a prank! It’s apple juice with salt and vinegar!”

He stops.

Looks at you.

Water dripping off his nose.

“…I knew that,” he lies.

OSCAR

You leave your cup on the counter.

Oscar wanders in, takes one sip—

And SPITS it directly into the sink with crazy accuracy.

“WHAT?! WHAT IS THAT?!? OH MY GOD—EW—EW—EW—”

You rush in. “BABE?!”

“What are you DRINKING?! That was horrible!”

“Oscar… did you drink from my cup?”

“Yes! What was that?!”

You whisper: “Baby… it was my pee for a pregnancy test…”

His soul leaves his body.

He sits down on the floor.

Staring at nothing.

“No. No. No. I did not. I didn’t. No.”

You’re laughing so hard you’re nearly crying.

“Babe it’s a prank! It was apple juice with salt and vinegar!”

He flops backward onto the tiles.

“Oh thank god. I thought I was done for.”

LANDO

You leave your cup by the bathroom sink.

He walks in. Sees the cup. Drinks it.

Then instantly—

“PUHHHHH—WHAT—EW EW EW—WHAT IS THAT—OH MY GOD—”

*GAG*

*GAG*

*GAG*

You run over. “BABE???”

“WHAT ARE YOU DRINKING?!?! THIS IS—THIS IS—THIS IS A CRIME.”

“Lando… did you drink from my cup?”

“Yes!! What is it?!”

“Babe… that was my pee for my doctor—”

He FAINTS.

Immediately.

Like a Victorian lady.

Falls sideways onto the bathroom floor.

“OH MY GOD BABE?!”

You grab water and splash his face.

“WAKE UP! OMG IT’S JUST A PRANK!”

His eyes flutter open.

“Please…” he croaks. “Please tell me I didn’t drink your pee… I’ll drink anything else. Anything. But pee.”

You laugh so hard you choke.

“Babe! It was apple juice with salt and vinegar!”

He collapses back in relief.

“Thank god… I thought that was it for me.”

CARLOS

You leave your cup on the table.

Carlos walks by, grabs it, drinks half—

Then instantly bends over coughing.

“OH—EW—WHAT IS—WHAT DID I JUST DRINK—OH GOD—”

You run in, dramatic gasp ready.

“BABE WHAT HAPPENED?!”

“This drink! THIS MONSTROSITY! WHAT IS THIS?!”

“Wait—Carlos—did you drink from my cup?”

“Yes!! WHY?!”

You whisper:

“…babe… that was my pee. For a test.”

He stumbles backward.

Almost faints.

You sprint and catch him.

“NO NO NO—OH GOD—NO—NO WAY—Y/N—WHAT—”

He starts dry-heaving into the sink.

You break.

Laughing hysterically.

“Baby it’s a prank! It was apple juice with salt and vinegar!”

He falls onto the sofa, hand over his heart.

“I thought I saw death. I thought it was my time.”

“Nope!” You dip your fingers into the bowl, warm and gooey. “This one!”

You start spreading it on his cheeks.

He blinks. “Oh… oh it’s warm.”

“I know!” you say happily. “It’s fresh!”

His eyes narrow. “Fresh?”

“Mm-hmm. So it’s still full of nutrients.”

Now he looks concerned. “Babe… what kind of mask is this?”

You say it casually, like you’re announcing what you ordered for takeout.

“A blood one.”

Lewis freezes so hard his soul detaches.

“…a what.”

“A blood one! My period mask. I just started, so it’s the perfect time—super moisturizing, helps with dark marks, acne scars, hyperpigmen—”

“Y/N.” His eyes go wide. “Babe. I need you to stop right now.”

“What? Why? It’s really good for—”

“BABE.” He sits up instantly, wipes his face with his sleeve, panics harder. “I need to wash my face. IMMEDIATELY.”

He speed-walks to the sink like he’s fighting for his life.

“I can’t believe—fresh?! Fresh BLOOD?! I love you but—oh my god—”

You’re wheezing trying not to laugh as he splashes water everywhere.

Then he says it.

The line.

“Actually… wait…” he pauses, sighs, and mutters, “I mean… I’ve technically tasted it before… multiple occasions… when I was really, really hungry…”

You choke. “LEWIS!”

He shrugs, cheeks turning pink. “What? I love the taste of you. All of you.”

You burst into laughter. “Babe it’s a PRANK! It’s not blood!”

He sags over the sink in relief. “THANK GOD. Thought I was about to become a vampire activist.”

MAX

“Max! Spa day!” you call.

He comes instantly because he loves when you pamper him. “Okay, but not the burning one again, right?”

“Nope,” you lie easily.

You start spreading the warm mixture on his face.

“Oooh… warm,” he murmurs. “Why is it warm?”

“It’s fresh.”

He pauses. “Fresh… like… freshly made? Or… what do you mean by fresh?”

You smile sweetly. “It’s my period mask.”

Max goes stiff.

Absolutely frozen.

Like someone unplugged his brain.

“A… what?”

“My period mask! I just started today so it’s perfect—full of nutrients, helps texture, brightness, pigmentation—”

“Y/N. STOP.” He grabs your wrist gently but firmly. “No. There is NO way you are putting PERIOD ANYTHING on my face.”

You bite your lip, pretending confusion. “Max, it’s healthy—”

“For YOU. Maybe! Not for me! Oh my god I—”

He bolts to the sink so fast he knocks over a plant.

He scrubs like a man possessed.

Then he mutters to himself—too loud.

“…I mean, it’s not like I haven’t tasted it before… several times… when I was starving for you…”

You stare. “MAX!”

He shrugs, cheeks flaming. “Well, I love all of you.”

You burst out laughing. “It was APPLE JUICE, you menace!”

Max sags against the sink. “THANK GOD. I was about to start praying to whoever controls periods.”

OSCAR

“Baby do a face mask with me!”

Oscar smiles immediately. “Yay! I love spa days.”

You dip your fingers in the bowl and apply the warm mixture.

He giggles. “It’s warm!”

“I know, it’s fresh!”

He stops giggling. “Fresh… how?”

“Well it’s a blood mask—” you start casually.

Oscar BLINKS. HARD.

“A WHAT?!”

“My period one! And I just started so it’s a great time because it moisturizes and—”

“Y/N STOP.” He grabs your hand like you’re applying cement.

“Baby—baby NO—why would you—no. NO. I need to wash this off, I’m—oh god—”

He stumbles to the sink, bumping into the counter, mumbling in absolute distress.

And then, under his breath:

“…I mean… I’ve tasted it before… on accident… or like three accidents maybe… when I was really hungry—”

“OSCAR YOU DID NOT JUST SAY THAT.”

He covers his face. “I love every part of you, okay?! Just not ON my face!”

You burst out laughing. “It’s a PRANK! It’s just apple juice and red food coloring!”

Oscar collapses against the wall with relief. “PLEASE. NEVER AGAIN. My soul almost left.”

CHARLES

“Char! Come do a face mask.”

He sits down happily. “Ah yes, spa time!”

You smooth the warm mixture on his cheeks.

He frowns. “Why is it hot?”

“It’s fresh.”

He nods… then pauses. “Fresh… from where?”

“My period!” you say like it’s the weather.

Charles SCREAMS.

“YOUR—YOUR WHAT?!”

“My period mask! It helps texture and—”

“NO. NON. STOP. Y/N STOP.”

He shoots out of the chair so fast he hits his knee on the table.

“I need water—no—I need bleach—no—holy water—”

You’re dying.

“Babe it’s a PRANK!”

He drops to his knees in relief. “THANK YOU GOD. I was about to move to Mars.”

LANDO

“Landooo! Mask time!”

He jumps onto the couch. “Yay! Pimp me up.”

You apply the warm mixture.

He immediately grimaces. “Why is it warm? Why is it ALIVE-feeling?”

“It’s fresh!”

“Fresh like strawberries… or fresh like—”

“Period!” you chirp.

Lando stops breathing.

“You put WHAT on my WHAT?!”

You rattle off the benefits. He looks close to fainting.

“NO. NO. NO. BABE. I—NO.”

He scrambles up, practically slips, hits the wall, runs to the sink.

“OMG I CAN FEEL IT ON ME—THIS IS TRAUMA—”

You laugh until your stomach hurts.

“Babe it’s a prank!”

He collapses over the sink. “THANK GOD. I thought I needed therapy.”

CARLOS

“Carlitooo! Face mask time!”

He comes over proudly. “Of course, mi amor.”

You apply the warm mixture.

“Warm… suspiciously warm…” he narrows his eyes.

“It’s fresh!”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“It’s my period mask,” you say casually.

Carlos CHOKES.

“YOUR WHAT MASK?!”

You go on about skincare benefits.

Carlos stands up so fast the chair falls.

“NO. NONONO. MI AMOR. I LOVE YOU BUT NO. I am washing my face RIGHT NOW.”

He rushes to the sink, mumbling Spanish curses.

“Babe it’s a PRANK!” you giggle.

He puts both hands on the counter, sighs dramatically.

“Gracias a Dios. I was about to faint.”