there is, in fact, a password door lock

“She does’t like pasta,” Saeran informs you. “Let me get her something of her own, and then she’ll leave us be.”

He sets his bowl down on the blanket, and just as he expected, Apple Turnover sniffs at it suspiciously, but doesn’t make any move to try and eat it. When Saeran returns to the living room with a small bowl of cat food for her, she becomes much more interested. “There you go, darling,” he tells her, setting the bowl down off to the side and offering her some scratches behind the ear before joining you on the blanket. “There. Now she has her own special dinner.”

“Oh, you got her chicken in gravy, didn’t you?” This, as you both know, is Apple Turnover’s present favorite flavor. Of course, she tends to change her mind on a monthly basis, so there’s a significant chance that it won’t serve to distract her the next time, but for now, it seems to be doing the trick. 

“We only have ten minutes,” Saeran responds in all seriousness. And it’s true that Apple Turnover will probably wolf down her food and then come back to bother both of you. 

“I know you can’t eat that fast,” you tease. 

“Hm, maybe not,” Saeran concedes, “But I don’t mind. She’s part of our family now— she should get to join us for dinner.”

“I’ll ask you about it again when she’s trying to knock your fork out of your hand.” You joke, but you know that Saeran doesn’t really mind it any more than you do. Also, there’s always a chance that Apple Turnover might calm down once she’s had something to eat. 

“I’m so happy that I get to be here with you,” Saeran tells you, changing the subject. “It’s hard to believe that another year has gone by for us already.”

“Yeah, but we’ve had fun, haven’t we?” It’s hard to be somber for long when you’re with Saeran. You just get so much joy out of every moment that you spend together. 

“We have,” Saeran agrees, “And now we’ll get to spend another four seasons together. I wonder what they’ll bring.”

“Who knows?” You take a bite of your pasta. “Oh, fuck, baby, this is delicious. Please make this recipe again in every season.”

“If you want.” The look Saeran gives you is absolutely full of love. “Of course I’m going to continue doing everything I can to make you happy all year round.”

“And I’ll do the same,” you tell him, “Obviously.” 

Before the pair of you can get too sappy, Apple Turnover comes back and attempts to pry your bowl out of your hands. Saeran sighs indulgently. “She’s gone off chicken in gravy,” he decides.

You shrug. “It was bound to happen sometime.” 

“You don’t want this,” Saeran tells Apple Turnover sternly, “You don’t even like pasta.” 

“I have, but none like this,” you reply. You’ve visited a few indoor Christmas markets before, but never one as big and impressive as the one you’re at right now. “Where to first?”

“Let’s get ourselves some eggnog.” You should have known that your husband’s first priority would be the acquisition of sweets. No matter how much time he spends out in the world, and no matter how many different deserts he tries in different contexts, Saeran will probably always have a sweet tooth. 

“Okay,” you agree, “Do you remember where it was?”

“Not at all.” He grins at you, clearly not bothered by the possibility of delays. After all, the pair of you have the entire afternoon to wander around here, although you don’t know if you’ll take advantage of it. It is colder than you expected and it looks like it might snow. 

You and Saeran get distracted twice on your way to find the eggnog. The first instance occurs when your eye is caught by a display of glass animals. “Oh, these are lovely,” you croon, “Saeran, look.”

“Oh, wow,” he breathes, admiring the delicate craftsmanship. All the animals are very small and very well-made, carefully shaped and painted to resemble horses, giraffes, elephants, and mice, among other creatures. “This one looks just like Apple Turnover.”

“Oh, you’re right!” The black cat even has your baby’s brilliant green eyes. “We should get it,” you decide, “We can put it in the spice rack.”

“Otherwise she’d knock it down and break it.” Saeran clearly understands exactly what you’re getting at.

The second time is to watch a group of people throwing small axes at a set of targets. “I didn’t know people did that,” Saeran breathes. 

“They have lessons.” You consult a nearby flyer, “If you want to get into it.”

“No, thank you.” Your husband shakes his head. “I don’t do well at throwing things, and I don’t want weapons in the house. What if Apple Turnover gets into them?”

You try to imagine your cat armed with throwing axes, and as unlikely as it may be, you can understand why Saeran would be put off. “She does enough damage with just her claws.”

“Yes, exactly.” Saeran says. “Oh, my love, I see it! Eggnog!” 

“And we still have the one from last year,” you point out. The plastic Christmas tree has been an old stand-by for you and Saeran ever since you left Magenta, but Jumin has encouraged you both to make a trip to the new C&R Christmas tree farm. Besides, it’s true that both of you love nature, and hunting for a Christmas tree is a new experience for Saeran. So, too, is sweeping up pine needles in the living room, but that’s a sacrifice that the two of you understand and are willing to make. “We could do two trees.”

“We could put the other one downstairs and this one in the bedroom,” Saeran decides, gravitating to a rather imposing fir that would never fit in your bedroom, not even if you got rid of all your furniture. 

“Well, not that one, per se,” you steer him over to a more appropriately-sized spruce.

“Can we look at the firs instead, my love?” Saeran asks. You should have known that he would have opinions about the specific type of tree. 

“Why?” You ask. “They don’t look that different.”

“No, they don’t,” Saeran agrees, “But in the language of flowers, spruce trees mean ‘farewell.’”

“Oh,” you consider this information, “Like, farewell to the old year?”

“Maybe,” Saeran concedes, “But fir trees symbolize time, and I like that better for the holiday season. It’s a good reminder that we get to have our time entirely to ourselves now, to do whatever we want with. That’s more important to me than whether the year on the calendar has changed.”

“That makes sense,” you nod. He does have a point, and now that he’s told you it’s important to him, you are, of course, willing to honor his preference. “I’m glad you told me.”

The two of you make your way over to the section with the firs. The thing is that you don’t particularly care what your tree look like under all the lights and ornaments, but you know that it’s important to Saeran. You’re willing to defer to his opinion, though you are, of course, also perfectly willing to offer feedback if he asks for it. For now, though, he’s got a familiar look in his eyes. Saeran is in silent contemplation, selecting the tree that he thinks will be the best fit for your home. “What about this one, angel?” He asks.

“Oh, I like that, honey,” you tell him, “It’s a good size and it’s in good condition.” That’s about as far as your knowledge on the subject goes. 

“It’s a good price, too, and it’s small enough that we can put it in the bedroom and close the door to keep Apple Turnover out. I don’t want her swallowing the needles,” he decides, “I think we should get it.”

You wave the attendant over, and she materializes. A brief conversation ensues, during which you and Saeran acquire the tree, and then all that’s left is to watch the tree attendant and one of her colleagues lift your purchase up, carry it over to your car, and tie it to the roof. 

“I can’t wait to decorate it,” you muse. 

“Me neither,” Saeran grins at you. “Let’s get started the minute we get home.”

All of this to say that you should have known exactly what to expect this afternoon. It may have been your idea to take a day trip to the science museum, but Saeran is the one entirely in his element here. You’ve been to a natural history museum together, of course, but this, apparently, is something completely different. 

“This is such a lovely resource to have,” Saeran informs you, swinging your hand in his as the two of you walk side by side through the exhibits. “I would have been so excited to see it as a child.”

The problem with the science museum, if there is one, is that most of its displays are clearly geared toward a younger audience. Of course, Saeran has no shame anymore around not knowing things— it wasn’t his fault that he was deprived of knowledge for so long, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation or an excuse for his curiosity or his engagement with the world around him. 

“It seems like you’re excited to see it now, my love,” you tell him as he presses a button on a large cutout in the shape of a cartoon child. The display proceeds to mist the both of you with water, which you suppose would follow, since it’s connected to a placard with information about why and how people sneeze. 

Saeran laughs. “That’s true,” he concedes, “But I can’t imagine how these children feel, learning all of this for the first time this way while they’re still young. I’m glad they get to enjoy it.”

“Me too,” you decide. You love that your husband approaches everything from a place of profound gratitude. He would be entitled to his anger, of course, but because that very emotion was used against him for so long, he has chosen to operate from a place of compassion instead. Neither approach is particularly right or particularly wrong, as long as nobody is getting hurt, but the grateful attitude is so quintessentially Saeran that you can’t help but feel endeared. “Wait until we get to the part about the ocean.”

“I’m sure there’ll be something to do with sharks,” he knows exactly what you’re getting at. 

“Maybe they’ll even have some fish here.” It’s not unheard of, after all, for science museums to have their own aquariums. 

“But first we should get through this germ section.” 

Saeran laughs fondly, picking up his pink bowling ball from the return machine. He’s chosen the lightest ball on offer, largely for its color; it’s just slightly too small for his hands. “Nice work, my love,” he tells you.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, too, babe,” you assure him, though this is Saeran’s first time bowling, and he’s not exactly a prodigy. “And after this game, we can have nachos.”

“And milkshakes?” Saeran suggests, looking hopeful as he approaches the lane. 

“Of course,” you reply. 

He slings the ball into the gutter. “Oh,” he shakes his head, takes his ball back when it returns, and rolls it again, knocking over five pins this time. “Well, that’s better than the last turn.”

“We’ve barely even gotten started, honey,” you remind him, “And, plus, you usually smoke me whenever we play games together. It’s nice to win one for a change.”

“But you just said, we’ve barely gotten started,” Saeran offers you a cheeky grin. He’s clearly not at all bothered that he isn’t very good at bowling— after all, this is his first time ever attempting it. “You haven’t won yet, my love.”

“Oh, sure, but I’m going to.” You grin, then plant a gentle kiss on his lips. 

“Go roll your ball now,” he instructs, and you comply with a flirtatious wink. You earn a strike. 

“Oh my,” Saeran marvels, “You’re good at this, darling. Can you do my turn for me, too?”

“Do you want me to?” You ask, trying to sound serious. It’s pretty difficult when you’re both dissolving into giggles. 

“If you keep doing that, then yes. We can get our nachos faster.”

“And the milkshake, which is what you really want.” You bowl your second ball and end up knocking down three of the pins. The truth is that you’re not so good at bowling after all— it’s something that you did a few times growing up, and as an adult, you’ve certainly fallen out of practice. 

“Well, yes, the milkshake too, of course.” Saeran grins at you, then accepts his ball from the return machine and bowls a gnarly split. He looks at you with big, pouting eyes. “Can you fix it for me?”

You laugh. “No. Like, I’m not being mean right now, babe— I don’t know how to fix that. Go make those eyes at that bowling team over there, with the matching jackets. They could probably help you.”

“I won’t,” Saeran decides, “I’ll throw it down the middle.” He does as promised, though he does manage to knock over one of the pins in the process.

“Well, there you go,” you counsel, “You just have to try not to hit them, and then you’ll hit them.”

“That does make sense,” Saeran concedes, “Considering I kept rolling it into the gutter when I was trying to hit the pins.”

“See, we’re learning,” you joke. 

“You should roll the ball so we can get our milkshakes,” Saeran instructs, dropping the pretense of caring about the nachos. 

You bite your lip. “Are we watching the same demonstration right now, baby?” 

He laughs at that. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, my angel.”

This is something new for both of you. You’ve danced together, sure, but never formally. Ray was interested in learning courtly couples’ dances, but he never got the chance to at Magenta, and as with so many of the activities that you and Saeran have indulged in this year, there’s simply been too long a backlog of other things on your plate to try dance lessons. Until now, that is. 

“Alright,” one of the instructors smiles reassuring at the group. “Let’s get out onto the dance floor and see how we do.”

“Oh god.” You’re a little nervous about making a fool of yourself. After all, this is a dance you’ve never learned before, and you’re not deceived by how easy the instructors made it look. 

Saeran laughs. “Don’t worry, my love,” he says, “It won’t be so bad. This is a beginners’ course, after all.”

“You know what? You’re right,” you smile back at him, deciding to look on the bright side. The worst case scenario is that the instructors correct you when you miss a step, but this is what they’re supposed to do. It’s literally their job, and you’re only here to learn from them. There’s a high chance you won’t be perfect at this when you first try it, but what matters is that you’re learning and trying something new. Just about everybody here is in the same boat, Saeran included. 

The music starts. “Shall we, my angel?” Saeran asks. He sweeps into a bow that somehow comes across as playful and flirtatious.

It earns a laugh from you. “Yeah, okay, honey. Let’s try it.”

Saeran copies the way the instructors were standing, reaching out to you as you try your best to follow the steps of the dance. You get mixed up fairly early in the proceedings, and then Saeran misses two steps and ends up further away from you than he’s supposed to be. When you see that the other couples on the floor (including the instructors) are performing some sort of spin move, you panic a little. “Do you want to spin?” You ask.

“Sure,” Saeran says, allowing you to spin him. Except that you spin him in the wrong direction, counter clockwise instead of clockwise, and he winds up even further away from you. Naturally, you didn’t learn any kind of procedure for a situation like this, because it wouldn’t have happened if you and Saeran had followed the steps of the dance correctly. 

You end up just walking over to him, and both of you dissolve into giggles. “I don’t think that’s what was supposed to happen,” you decide. 

“No, it definitely wasn’t,” Saeran manages, “But it was fun anyway, right?” 

“Sure,” you agree. “Oh no. Here comes the instructor.”

“Well,” Saeran grins, “At least we’re about to learn how to do it properly.” 

“And the first person to run out of magnets wins?” The natural progression of the game seems intuitive to you. 

“Yes, exactly,” Saeran nods. “You understand, then. Should we get started?” He’s not necessarily very competitive, but he knows he’s good at lots of things. It’s been absolutely lovely to see him grow into his confidence since the pair of you left Magenta. 

“Sure,” you reply. “Let’s get started.” You, on the other hand, can be pretty competitive. You love Saeran very much, but you also very much want to win.

“I’ll go first.” He takes a sip from the very pink beverage in front of him before setting one of the small black magnets in the circle. 

“How was your day, honey?” You ask him nonchalantly, adding your own magnet to the mix before the game heats up. 

“Very good,” Saeran replies, placing his own magnet around the perimeter of the circle. So he has a strategy, then. It makes sense. “There was a little bit of raking to do in the garden, and once I finished that, I read and journaled for a while.”

“Mhm, sounds fun,” you reply. After you place your magnet, you tell him a little bit about your day at work. Normally, you’re not expected to go into the office on Tuesdays, but things have been unexpectedly hectic at your work lately, so your hours have been a little bit different. That being said, it’s very nice to be able to come home to a quiet evening with Saeran after a long and honestly stressful day of work. 

“Well, at least that’s over now, my angel,” he comforts you before placing his magnet in the last comfortable perimeter spot.

You set your own magnet closer to the middle. “Yeah, and things should start getting easier soon. These seasonal issues never last too long, I keep telling myself.”

“Still, my love.” Saeran chooses another alright spot for his own magnet. “We should make sure that at least you’re getting enough sleep and eating well before and after work. It might make the stress easier to deal with.” You know he’s right. Saeran knows a lot about stressful work environments, and you always appreciate it when he looks out for you. 

“You’re right,” you assure him, setting another magnet down. The circle is pretty small, and the fit is getting tight. 

In fact, the next magnet that Saeran puts down ends up attracting one more magnet. “Oh,” he exclaims mildly. He doesn’t seem quite so torn up about it. 

You’re each able to place one more magnet before you put one down and it draws four more in. “Damn it,” you mutter, but it clears up the playing field. 

“This is fun,” Saeran decides. 

“Well, you only think that because you’re winning, babe,” you joke, but he’s right. 

Unfortunately, Saeran just has a better eye for this kind of thing than you do, or at least, that’s your excuse when you end up pulling three magnets again. “Do you want me to let you win?” Saeran jokes. 

“Absolutely not.” But you giggle at the idea. It’s a nice reminder that this is all in good fun, so it doesn’t matter that your husband is about to kick your ass at… whatever this game is called. You get distracted trying to remember the name and end up pulling two magnets up. “Damn it.” 

Saeran laughs and sets down his last magnet. “Does this mean I win?” He asks innocently, like he doesn’t know. 

“Yep,” you reply brightly. “Can we have a rematch?”

“This is so pretty,” Saeran muses. 

“It is,” you agree.

The two of you have gotten out of the way a little, onto a path that’s meant for bikes and pedestrians along the banks of a river. Earlier this afternoon, you tried riding through the city in the bike lanes, but the level of traffic made you and Saeran both a little anxious, so you pulled over and looked up a better route. 

“We’ll have to come back next year,” Saeran decides. He’s next to you for now, though if anyone else comes down the other side of the trail, he’ll have to move behind you or in front of you to give them space to pass. This isn’t something that you two do often, but it’s fun for a date. The pace is gentle and the scenery really is lovely, with river birds flitting in and out of the trees and skimming the water. Not to mention the local businesses and interesting buildings on the other side of the street. “That way we can see the fall colors.”

“Oh, that’s true,” you agree, “I think we came a little late.”

“I wonder if the place we rented from has tandem bikes,” Saeran muses, “It might be romantic to try one out.”

“Sure, if you want to.” You have no intrinsic desire to ride on a tandem bike, but if Saeran wants to, it’s something you’re willing to try. A lot of the time, one of you has an idea that the other one ends up liking, once the pair of you actually try it together. Though sometimes, especially early on in your relationship, one of your experiments turns out to suit one of you better than it does the other. 

“We could pack a picnic,” he suggests. Then he falls back so that a woman running by you can pass. 

You consider the physics of getting a picnic basket onto one of the bikes from the rental place. You doubt that there will be space for that, but maybe one of you could carry bread and cheese in a backpack and the other could carry apple cider or some other beverage. You could convince Saeran to use compostable paper cups instead of the glasses that he typically favors, though you don’t need to ask him to know that plastic is out of the question.

“How much longer do we have these for, honey?” You ask, once the jogger has passed and Saeran is able to navigate back to your side. The pair of you don’t tend to go for dates that are in any way physically demanding, but this excursion is a nice change of pace. 

“An hour,” he informs you, after a brief glance at his watch. It seems the thing does come in handy sometimes, when it wouldn’t be convenient for him to reach into his pocket and grab his phone. 

“Alright, then.” You grin. “Let’s pull over and plan a route that gets us back to the rental place by then. It’ll be fun.”

That had been your initial plan for your date, but the weather report warned you of impending wind and rain, which would have made the excursion unpleasant. You and Saeran have your whole lives ahead of you, and are comfortable being flexible when the moment demands. Also, it wouldn’t have been very fun to try and bike around in the cold, so you would rather have a quotidian evening together than a harrowing one. 

“We’ll have to go back to the bookstore again soon,” you muse. The new plan is for you and Saeran to cuddle up under a blanket, reading your respective books and enjoying one another’s presence. You get the feeling that as the days get colder and the nights get longer, there will be significant more afternoons and evenings spent indoors with books in hand. 

“We will,” Saeran agrees. “Maybe we can go after we’re done biking, if we go early enough in the day.”

“Sure,” you agree, sitting down on the couch and waiting for Saeran to join you before pulling the blanket over the pair of you. 

Apple Turnover opens one eye, notices that you and Saeran are getting cozy without her, and promptly leaps down from her chair, trots over, and stands on your leg with all the force in her little body. “Okay, sit down,” you tell her, petting her back.

She doesn’t know what that means, but she happens to comply anyway. “She’s so cute,” Saeran observes, reaching over to scratch Apple Turnover behind the ears. “She wants to be with us.”

“It’s cuter now than it is when she tries to sleep on my face at four in the morning,” you concede. You love Apple Turnover with all your heart, but that can be a little much sometimes. 

“Does she really do that?” Saeran asks. “I usually find her by my feet.”

“That’s because she respects you, but she thinks I’m part of the furniture.” 

“Oh.” Saeran seems to consider this. He even puts his book down. “Apple Turnover,” he counsels the cat in the affectation of a stern tone, “Please treat MC with respect from now on.” You both break down in giggles. 

“There’ll be more time next week,” he assures you, ever the optimist. “We’ll have to be sure to take as much rest as we can.”

The preparations for the RFA Halloween party have been taking their toll on you over the course of the past week, that much is certain, and the event itself is this evening. You and Saeran have elected to dress as a pair of vampires, a classic and simple couples’ costume that will impress people without distracting too much from the event and the fundraiser. Unfortunately, there’s no time this week for you and Saeran to take an elaborately-planned date, considering your already busy schedules, the party itself, and the inevitable clean-up— not to mention that the two of you will doubtless have a hand in trick-or-treat on Halloween night. 

Still, that doesn’t mean that the pair of you can’t spend time together before the party. “That’s true,” you concede, “And we’ll still be together at the party, more or less.” You and Saeran tend to make a point of mingling with other people at RFA parties in order to draw as many guests as possible into the fold. You don’t like to brag, but you’re kind of a power couple, and this can be intimidating for some of the guests who don’t know you as well. 

“You know, my love, I had to buy this from the store,” Saeran muses, displaying the vial of black nail polish for you to see. “I didn’t save any of what I had at Magenta.”

“The way you say that makes me think that you had, like, a closet full of just black nail polish,” you admit. You and Saeran are far enough away from Magenta that you can speak more lightly about it now. After all, you both spent a lot of time there, and it would be silly to avoid talking about the place where you met and fell in love, somewhere that holds a lot of conflicting and complicated memories for Saeran in particular. And he brought it up, which you have learned is a sign that he’s open to a discussion. 

“Well,” he muses, reaching for your hand. You comply, allowing him to begin painting your right thumb. Once your nails are dry, you’ll return the favor for him. “Saeran liked to paint his nails black, but Ray had a habit of biting his nails, and the polish tasted disgusting, so he would always remove it. Then, Saeran would always repaint it.”

“Oh. So how many times a week would you paint your nails?”

He considers the question. “Somewhere between three and ten, usually. We didn’t switch out very often, and a lot of times, Ray had something to do, so he couldn’t sit down with nail polish remover. Or Saeran was too busy to repaint his nails.”

“Still, you have a lot of practice,” you observe. The first coat of polish on your fingers is looking very good. 

“Mhm,” Saeran agrees, “I guess I do. I got really quick at it toward the end. But it’s too much hassle now, since I don’t like the way it looks when it gets chipped. Only for special occasions.”

“Well, this is certainly one of those,” you muse, leaning over to plant a kiss on his cheeks. When you pull away, Saeran is blushing. 

“You made me mess up,” he pouts. 

“If you say so.” You return his grin as you follow him to wherever it is that he’s leading you. 

You’re only a few minutes’ drive and a few more minutes’ walk from home, but still, this outing feels special. It’s no secret that you and Saeran both enjoy picnics, but this is something different. For one thing, since the knitting workshop that you attended over the summer, you and Saeran have been collaborating on a small patchwork blanket. It’s driven Apple Turnover crazy; she may have had more fun attacking the yarn than either of you did actually knitting. Now, Saeran has that blanket in a picnic basket, covering a veritable autumn feast. 

“I think this is a nice spot,” he says. You’re near a river, but not so close as to be uncomfortable or pestered by wildlife. There’s no picnic table or anything like that, but the spot on the ground is relatively clear, especially considering all the beautiful autumn leaves surrounding you, so you doubt that you’re the first ones to take a picnic here. Of course, it’s always possible that Saeran snuck off on his own ahead of time for scouting, but you don’t mind. Whatever the case, it’s a very nice spot for a picnic, as Saeran said. 

“Mhm, I agree,” you hum. He hands you the blanket, and you carefully spread it out over the ground.

You sprawl on the blanket, watching the brown, yellow, and orange leaves rain down as Saeran lays out the food he’s brought. “Alright, my love,” he says, when he’s pleased with his arrangement. “Let’s eat.”

“You know, next time, I’m going to have to be responsible for the food,” you joke. You know that Saeran loves cooking, especially cooking for you, and especially when picnics are involved. But that doesn’t mean you can’t spoil him from time to time as well. It’s nice, you’ve found, both to give and to receive. 

“Of course,” Saeran says, passing you a glass of apple cider. You are endeared by the knowledge that he lugged a set of nice glasses out here for the sole purpose of serving cider in them.

“Your sandwiches always look so cute,” you muse. You don’t know how he does it. The two slices of bread are always perfectly aligned, with the filling poking out evenly on all sides. It was shocking to you when you learned that your husband had never undergone any kind of professional culinary training.

Saeran just shrugs at you with a playful little smile. “If you say so, my angel.” He’s not mocking you, per se, just copying what you said earlier in a completely different context, which  is a good enough excuse to lean over and kiss him. Nobody’s here to see, so you linger a bit longer than you normally would outside of your own home. Saeran kisses you back, but then pulls away. “The food will get cold, my love,” he teases.

You snort. “The food’s already cold. That’s the point of a picnic. But okay, let’s eat. I can’t wait to taste what you’ve made for me.” 

“I was a little worried,” Saeran tells you, as the pair of you approach the waterpark area of the resort, “That it would be spooky without all the people here. But this is nice and peaceful.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s almost halloween, so I don’t mind a little spookiness,” you decide, “Although that’s not really the word I would use for a waterpark that isn’t crowded.”

Saeran returns your shrug. In your opinion, it looks much cuter on him. “Where to first, my love?”

“Hm,” you look around. There are regular pools, of course, and hot tubs, a sauna, and wave pools. There are also several very fun-looking slides. “You choose.” After all, Saeran has significantly less experience than you do with waterparks. It might be fun to indulge in his beginners mindset and follow him around, at least at the start. Since the pair of you are here tonight and part of tomorrow, as well, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to split up if you end up having different opinions on what to do. 

“Oh.” Apparently, Saeran’s plan was similar to yours. “That slide looks fun.”

“You want to do the slide first?” You ask, grinning. 

“Part of it is outside,” Saeran reasons, “It might get cold soon after it gets dark, so we should take advantage of it now.”

“I like the way you think,” you decide. “God, I love you.”

Your husband isn’t really much of a thrill-seeker. After the life he’s led, he usually prefers to play it safe, but he’s also a big fan of new experiences. The result makes his decisions difficult to predict, though of course, you’d trust him with your life. You’ve done it before, after all. 

“I love you too, my angel,” he tells you, “Now, let’s get in line for the slide. I don’t want to wait to long.” He’s just being playful, though, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by. It’s really not fair that you’re in public and it would be inappropriate to kiss him right here. Well, you do have a room at the resort, so that’s an avenue you can walk down later if you both so choose. 

“Whatever you say.” You let him lead you toward the slide of his choosing. There are about six of them here, and some look more daunting than others.

True to Saeran’s word, he takes you to the one that is partway outside. The line isn’t very long, though there are plenty of stairs involved. “Do you want to go first?” You ask when you approach the top. 

“I think so,” Saeran decides. “Unless you want to, my love. Then I can wait.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you tell him indulgently, “Go ahead.”

So you let him go in front of you, and the attendant waves him through. It’s not often that you get to hear your husband whooping with joy; he’s usually quite reserved. But this is one of those lucky occasions where he really lets loose. A few seconds later, the attendant waves you through, as well, and you follow Saeran down into the pool.

The slide rushes you through a few tight curves, one of which carries you outside, so that you can see the blue sky of early fall above you before you’re jerked back inside. After a few more twists which make you somewhat dizzy, you shoot out into a pool, where Saeran is waiting for you. His hair is plastered to his face with chlorinated water; he slicks it back and turns to grin at you. 

“How did you like it, my angel?”

“It was fun,” you tell him, “What did you think?”

Saeran shakes his head. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. I’ll probably have to go a few more times before I know for sure— for science.”