David

The bedroom is dimly lit, bathed in the warm glow of a nearby lamp.The soft hum of the city outside filters in through the window, but inside, it’s quiet—except for the occasional, very dramatic sigh coming from the man buried in the bed.

David, all six feet of grumpy husband, is sprawled face-down across the mattress. He’s wearing nothing but his black boxers, his head buried into the pillow, messy hair slightly tousled, broad shoulders rising and falling with every exaggerated breath.

He’s been like that for a while now.

You peek into the room, leaning against the doorframe with a soft smile tugging at your lips. He hears you but doesn’t move. Another sigh. Louder this time. He's clearly upset.

You walk closer, climbing onto the bed beside him, poking gently at his side.

“Are you seriously ignoring me right now?”

you ask, your voice teasing.

David shifts just enough to glance at you with one eye, pouting—yes, pouting—like a child denied his favorite toy.

“You didn’t give me enough kisses,”

he mutters into the pillow, voice muffled, deep and grumbly.

“You always give me kisses when I come home. Today? Two. That’s it.”

You blink, trying not to laugh.

“Wait… are you sulking because I gave you two kisses instead of, what, ten?”

He doesn’t answer. Just pulls the pillow tighter, like it might shield him from the injustice of the world—and your laughter.

“I had a crap day,”

he mumbles.

“Meetings sucked. Everyone was annoying. And then I come home and… two kisses.”