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The last of their guests had finally left, leaving the house quiet but still carrying the scent of celebration—roses, champagne, and faint traces of laughter. Street slumped onto the couch, tie undone, sleeves rolled up, hair messy in that way that made Chris’ chest tighten a little.
Chris padded in barefoot, wearing her favorite lace top and dark trousers, hair loose around her shoulders. She collapsed beside him with a tired laugh. “Successful engagement party?” she asked, voice soft but still a little buzzed.
“Survived it,” Street said, grinning. “I’d call that a win. Though Luca almost fell into the punch bowl.”
Chris snorted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Or wiped out the dessert table. And Tan tried to take over the playlist three times. I think my headache might be permanent.”
Street laughed, pressing a kiss into her temple. “You looked good the whole time, though. Even while dealing with chaos.”
Chris rolled her eyes, leaning against him. “Thanks. You looked… fine too, I guess.”
They sank into a comfortable silence, the hum of leftover music faint in the background. Chris shifted, tugging at the hem of her top with a soft groan.
Street raised an eyebrow. “Babe… why are you taking your clothes off?”
Chris gave a lazy shrug. “It’s like a sauna in here.”
He smirked. “Or maybe that’s just you.”
She snorted, swatting at him lightly, but he caught her wrist, steadying her with a grin. “You’re ridiculous,” he said softly.
“And you love me anyway,” she replied, leaning into him.
“Guilty,” he murmured. Then, after a pause, his grin widened. “Confession time—while everyone was cheering earlier, I almost cried.”
Chris laughed, surprised. “You? Cry?”
“Almost,” he admitted, shrugging. “It was… seeing you in that top, with your favourite people and realizing we’re really doing this. Together.”
Chris’ heart squeezed. She pressed her lips to his cheek. “Okay… your turn,” she teased. “Drunken confessions only.”
She hesitated a second, then whispered, “I think I like seeing you nervous. Makes you… human.”
Street blinked, then laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch. “You’re ruthless.”
“Maybe,” she murmured, grinning. “But I mean it.”
They spent the next while trading little truths in whispers and soft laughter—how Chris sometimes pretended she didn’t like rom-coms, how Street had stolen her fries in secret more times than she knew, how neither of them could sleep without the other nearby.
Eventually, they made their way upstairs, shedding the last of the night’s chaos along the way. Sheets were warm, lights dimmed just enough, and the world outside felt distant. Chris rested against him, fingers tangling with his.
“Promise we won’t ever stop doing this,” she murmured.
Street held her close, brushing his lips against her temple. “I promise. Forever.”
And there, in the quiet hum of their home, tipsy, honest, and content, Chris and Street drifted off together—safe, warm, and exactly where they belonged.