sure, the beginning of the relationship was difficult. you had both met through social media, and were long distance. but, you both knew where home was. and you always went back. no matter how hard it got, you both worked through it everyday.

that’s what was most important about the relationship, for the both of you. the communication, trust, and understanding between you and matt was strong. nothing else could ever ruin that.

so, when you finally met in person, it felt like you’d already seen each other. time and time again. you’d felt more comfortable with him than with anyone else in years. he made you feel alive, and confident. every day, you’d spend more time together. you were lucky to have him. your love for each other grew stronger.

it was peaceful. the amount of time you spent together. both of you had more time to think and discuss about the future, and what you wanted. matt, on the other hand, already knew what he wanted. it was you.

he wanted to settle down, buy a home, and have kids with you. all that’s left is getting married. you’d told matt about how you wanted your dream wedding to look like. white rose petals, a pretty gold arch at the altar, wrapped in tulips. you mainly just wanted an all navy blue theme. it was your favorite color.

matt liked the idea of having a navy blue theme for the wedding. he thought the color suited you. more than him really. but, you always tell him, “you look great in every color, baby.” which, he never forgets. you made him more confident in ways he didn’t know was possible.

matt had it all planned out perfectly. a beach front proposal. a nice restaurant, specifically Italian. your favorite. navy blue, just like you wanted.

so, that’s exactly what he did. Fancy Italian restaurant, beach front proposal, and navy blue letters reading, “may i be your husband?”. tulips laying around the letters, white rose petals scattered as a path.

“close your eyes, baby.” matt says, placing his hand on your waist.

you giggle, “why?”

“i have a surprise for you.” matt smiles, tying his tie around your eyes.

matt could feel his hands start to sweat. he would never admit but, he was scared. afraid that you would say no. matt knew you wouldn’t but, there was always that thought in the back of his mind.

“o-okay.” you smile.

“okay, i’m gonna help you so you don’t bump into things. hold my hand.” matt says, reaching for your hand.

you grab his hand and hold it a little tighter than normal. your nerves starting to rush through your chest. you were nervous, really nervous. you didn’t know what was going on, but, you hoped it wouldn’t be anything too bad.

you feel the small breeze as you walk outside. your hair sticks to your lips, slight lipgloss residue still remains. you move your hair away from your lips. then, matt speaks.

“are you ready?” matt asks, now standing behind you. his hands moves to the tie. he waits for an answer, his anxiety more intense than ever.

“yes, i am.” you respond, eyes still closed as the tie comes off.

matt kneels on one knee infront of you, “okay, you can open them.”

you gasp, staring at the huge glowing blue letters in front of you. tears starting to form. you giggle, your hands shaking as you place them on your face.

you look down at matt. the blue light beautifully captures his facial features. your heart starts to beat faster, finally realizing that your dream proposal was right in front of you. your dream husband—was right in front of you.

“y/n, for the last five years, i’ve realized how important this relationship is. how strong we’ve built our bond. not only as a couple, but, people.”

there’s a slight pause.

“so, may i be your husband?” he adds, smiling.

you nod, “yes! yes you may!”

matt slides the ring on, then, his hands move to your waist. he stands, and admires you. the blue lights beautifully beams off your face.

matt places a hand on your cheek. he presses your foreheads together, then, he gently places his lips on yours. the kiss is warm, and full of love. you wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

before you realize. it, there’s a flash. it’s quick, like a photo was just taken. you smile, moving one hand to be placed just above his heart.

the silence is warm, and loving. you smile at matt, whom was already staring at you. the look full of love and admiration. it felt like time had froze. both of you enjoying the moment.

you squeal as matt picks you up, bridal style. *click* another photo. you laugh, placing a hand around his neck. *click* anddd…another.

you felt butterflies fill your tummy. you finally accomplished what you’d always wanted. the start of your own family. matt wasn’t just your boyfriend, or best friend. he was your first love, your fiancé.

“mrs.sturniolo, it has a nice ring to it.” you spoke, admiring matt.

“oh, yeah?” matt laughs, walking towards the beach.

“yeah.”

“it’s perfect.”

Sunny goes feral for a party. By six o’clock your living room is unrecognizable. String lights are looped across your living room curtain rods, three mismatched blankets are layered in a nest, and an alarming quantity of snacks are sorted into bowls. A candle flickers on the coffee table next to a tower of DVDs that range from classic romcoms to one terrifying slasher Chris swore he was “absolutely putting on at some point.”

“Okay. Seating arrangements," Sunny begins. "You take the corner seat because Chris will try to steal it. I will be on popcorn duty.”

“Maybe we should let Chris do popcorn,” you suggest, picturing him throwing salt with dramatic wrist flicks.

“No,” Sunny says, deadly serious. “He over-salts.”

There’s a knock at the door.

 You open it to find Chris standing there carrying grocery bags in his two hands. He wears soft sweats and a Red Sox hoodie.

“Baby,” he says, stepping inside and toeing off his sneakers without being asked. “I brought snacks!”

“Like what,” you say, kissing his cheek. He sets the bags down. 

“Chips, salsa, gummy bears, three different sodas, and…” He lifts a bag proudly. “Mozzarella sticks!”

“You’re frying in my kitchen?” Sunny asks, appearing in the doorway with her hands on her hips wearing an apron labelled 'chaos coordinator'.

Chris squints at the apron. “That tracks.”

“Rude,” Sunny sings, already turning toward the stove. “You can air-fry. I’m not dying tonight because you want a golden crust.”

“Rude,” he mimics under his breath, but he’s smiling.

Things fall into a rhythm immediately after that. You rearrange couch pillows while Sunny mis-measures popcorn kernels and Chris rearranges food trays. It’s only slightly less chaotic than brunch at Luciano’s.

A second knock at the door has you opening it to greet Matt.

He stands in the threshold wearing a black beanie and thrifted jacket. A paper bag is tucked awkwardly under his arm. His eyes flick from you to the string lights to the chaos in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” You step aside. “Welcome to… whatever this is.”

He smirks, stepping in. “Looks like a Pinterest board threw up in here.”

“Thank you,” Sunny calls from the kitchen, as if that were a compliment. She wipes her hands on her apron and appears, bright and warm. “You made it!”

Matt holds up the bag sheepishly. “Brought something.” He hands it to you. Inside is a stack of used DVDs.

Sunny clasps her hands. “Okay, I vote we let the vinyl boy pick the first movie.”

“I’m not..” Matt starts, then exhales. “Fine. Ocean’s Eleven. It’s a con movie. No one has to cry.”

Chris points at him with an oven mitt. “A man of taste.”

You dim the lights and tv glows in the darkness. Chris drops onto the couch and immediately tries to take the corner. You hip-check him gently.

“Excuse me,” he says, faking offense.

“Sit like a normal person,” you say, tugging him down beside you. He slings an arm along the back of the couch, fingers brushing your shoulderg. Matt chooses the floor, back against an ottoman, one knee up. Sunny swan-dives into a beanbag with a bowl of popcorn.

The first heist sequence starts. Sunny gasps like she’s never seen a con movie before. Chris whispers commentary to your temple. “This is it, watch, watch,” and you shush him, which he ignores with a grin.

Matt watches quietly, eyes alert. Halfway through he mutters, “If any of you think this is how security cameras actually work, I’m walking out.”

“Shh,” Sunny says, leaning toward him. “Let us enjoy it.”

Somewhere between scenes, the air-fryer dings. Chris springs up and returns with a tray of mozzarella sticks arranged like a fan and a ramekin of marinara.

“Presentation,” he announces, placing them on the table.

Sunny claps. Matt eyes the tray. “If I get food poisoning, I’m suing.”

“Just try it,” Chris says, offended.

You pop a stick into your mouth but burn your lip. You make a face and Chris grabs your wrist. “Here, let me,” he says, grabbing your water off the table and pressing the glass to your mouth. It’s a tiny, ridiculous gesture, but it's romantic in Chris's own way.

Matt sees and looks away, giving you privacy in your own living room. Sunny doesn’t even pretend not to notice; grinning into her popcorn. The movie ends and Sunny looks positively feral.

“Okay,” she says, already rifling through the stack. “We go When Harry met Sally next.”

“No,” Chris and Matt say in unison, then pause, both startled they landed on the same word at the same time. 

Sunny’s eyes light up. “The Iron Giant.”

“That’s a children’s movie,” Chris says, already losing the argument.

“It’s a perfect movie,” Matt says, shrugging when everyone stares. “What? It’s about loyalty. And choosing who you want to be.”

Sunny’s face softens. “We said no crying.”

“It’ll be fine,” he replies, and you watch Chris’s head tilt in reluctant respect.

You throw a blanket over everyone’s legs and hit play. Sunny narrates the obvious in a whisper because she can’t help herself. Chris groans at every tender moment then squeezes your knee under the blanket when he thinks you won’t notice. Matt sits stiffer than before, as if the movie’s sentimentality embarrasses him.

By the time the end credits roll, the room is quiet. You sniffle once and Chris kisses the crown of your head.

“Okay,” Sunny says, clapping once so she doesn’t actually tear up. Then the air-fryer dings again. 

Chris gets up. “Round two.”

“While you do that,” Sunny says, collecting bowls, “I’m making hot chocolate.”

Matt stands too, grabbing the stack of empty bowls from her. “I got it, you’ll spill it,” he says.

“Not if you help,” she shoots back.

He follows her to the kitchen, helping her with mugs and milk and stopping a near disaster with the cocoa tin. Chris watches them for a second, then elbows you gently. “If he smiles any harder his face might crack.”

“Shh,” you say, smiling into your shoulder. “Don’t jinx it.”

In the kitchen, Sunny bumps Matt’s hip. “Movie night, next week?”

He hesitates for half a breath. “Maybe,” he says.

“Bring a record,” she says. “And I’ll try not to ruin popcorn.”

“You will,” he says.

They return with mugs, steam curling in the air. Sunny hands you one and Matt sets one down in front of Chris without comment. Chris mutters a “Thanks.”

You all sit again, enjoying your drinks and the last of the mozzarella sticks.

It’s late when Chris finally stands. He stretches, hoodie riding up, and your stomach flips at the sliver of skin he exposes. He helps you pull the blankets into a respectable pile, then leans down to murmur against your ear, “This wasn’t terrible.”

“Told you,” you whisper back.

He smirks. “Don’t get cocky.” Then softer, “Thank you for this.”

Sunny walks Matt to the door with two empty mugs. “Text me,” she says, casual but not actually casual at all.

Matt nods. “We’ll see.” Then, almost under his breath, “Yeah.”

The door clicks shut behind Matt and Sunny heads to her room. The apartment settles into quietness. You and Chris stand in the half-dark, alone again.

He hooks a finger in your belt loop, tugging you closer. “C’mere,” he says. The kiss is slow and a little sleepy and his hands feel familiar at your waist. He tastes faintly like chocolate.

“Go home,” you whisper against his mouth, smiling. “Sleep.”

He sighs into your cheek. “Bossy.”

“Right,” you say.

He groans just to be difficult. When he finally pulls back, he taps the brim of your cap where it hangs by the door.

“Movie night again?” he asks, hand on the knob.

“Next week,” you promise.

“Make brownies,” he says.

“Maybe,” you reply.

He grins. 

He’s still smiling when the door closes behind him and you stand there for a moment in the quiet.