Zayne woke to a now-familiar sensation.
Poking.
Someone was poking him.
Specifically, someone was poking his—
*Oh no.*
*Not again.*
*Please not again.*
He opened his eyes to find Nana sitting beside him in bed, fully awake, staring at his pants.
And poking.
Poke. Poke. Poke.
"Hamster," he said tiredly, "what are you doing?"
"Sunflower is awake!" she announced cheerfully. "Look! It's awake before you! Why does it wake up in the morning? Does it have an alarm? Internal clock?"
*Morning erection. She's discovered morning erections. And she's asking about alarm clocks.*
*This is my life now.*
Zayne stared at the ceiling, trying to decide if he should laugh or cry.
*She grew up in a mansion. Homeschooled. Strict parents. No boys allowed within 50 meters. Sheltered from everything.*
*I'm literally the first man she's known besides her father.*
The FIRST.
*No wonder she's this innocent. No wonder she doesn't understand basic male physiology. No wonder she pokes things and names them.*
*She's learning everything from scratch. From ME.*
*Oh god.*
"Stop poking," he managed, catching her hand.
"But it's MY sunflower now! I can poke if I want!"
*HER sunflower. She's claimed ownership. This is happening.*
"It's—" *not yours, except it kind of is, you're my wife, so technically yes but also NO* "—it's NOT a sunflower. It's anatomy. And it wakes up in the morning because of—" *how do I explain this* "—increased blood flow during REM sleep, hormonal fluctuations, and full bladder pressure. It's called morning erection. It's physiological. Normal. Not an alarm clock."
"Ohhhhh!" She looked fascinated. "So it just... wakes up? By itself?"
"Yes."
"Without you controlling it?"
"Yes."
"That's so interesting! So it has a mind of its own!"
*It absolutely does. And right now its mind is very interested in the fact that you're touching it.*
"Sort of," he admitted. "It responds to various stimuli. Including—" *don't say it don't say it* "—cute wives poking it."
"CUTE?!" She beamed. "You called me cute!"
*I called you cute. That's what she focused on. Not the part about stimulation. Just the cute part.*
*This innocent wife is going to be the death of me.*
"Yes, you're cute. Very cute. Dangerously cute. Now stop poking because—" *because I'm barely holding on, because morning erections are already difficult without you touching them, because—*
"Because what?"
"Because it's dangerous," he said firmly. "Poking sunflower—POKING IT—in the morning can lead to... complications."
"What complications?"
*Arousal. Desire. Me losing control. Us doing activities you're not ready for.*
"Husband complications," he said vaguely. "Trust me. No poking."
"Fine," she pouted, finally withdrawing her hand. "But I want to shower with you again!"
*NO. NOT AGAIN. ONCE WAS ENOUGH. MORE THAN ENOUGH.*
"We can shower separately—"
"TOGETHER!" She was already bouncing toward the bathroom. "Come on! Educational shower round two!"
*There is no god. God has abandoned me. I'm alone in this suffering.*
He followed her to the bathroom like a man walking to his execution.
This time, Zayne was prepared.
*Don't look. Don't stare. Clinical thoughts. Anatomical diagrams. Medical textbooks. Anything but—*
But she was right there.
Naked.
Under the water.
And he was only human.
Her waist.
It was so small.
So impossibly small.
He'd noticed before, but up close, without clothes, it was—
*I could wrap my hands completely around it. Both hands. Completely around.*
*Don't think about that. Don't imagine holding her waist while—*
STOP.
And her chest—
*Not small. Definitely not small. Why did I think they were small? They're perfect. More than perfect. They're—*
He coughed loudly, turning away, pretending to be very interested in washing his hair.
*Don't stare. Be respectful. She's innocent. She trusts you. Don't be the creepy husband who stares.*
"Zayne!"
Suddenly, water hit his back.
Cold water.
Nana had redirected the shower spray directly at him, giggling.
"What are you—"
More water. Splashing. Playful attack.
*She's attacking me. With water. In the shower.*
"Sneak attack!" she announced, still splashing. "Surprise water attack!"
*This woman. This absolute chaos woman.*
He turned, caught her wrist, and gently pinched her cheek.
"Ow! Hey!" She tried to splash with her other hand.
"No sneak attacks," he said, pinching her other cheek now, squishing her face between his hands like a hamster.
"You're squishing me!"
"You're attacking me."
"It's fun!"
*Fun. She thinks water attacks in the shower are fun.*
*You know what? Fine. If she wants to play—*
He redirected the shower spray at her.
Full blast.
Right in her face.
"AHHH!" She shrieked, sputtering. "BETRAYAL! HUSBAND BETRAYAL!"
"You started it."
"WAR!" She grabbed the detachable shower head. "THIS IS WAR!"
Oh no.
What followed was chaos.
Pure, wet chaos.
Water everywhere—walls, floor, them, everything.
Nana wielding the shower head like a weapon.
Zayne trying to defend himself with his hands.
Both of them laughing.
Actually laughing.
Like children.
*When did my life become water fights with my naked wife in a luxury hotel shower.*
*When did I become happy about it.*
She slipped slightly on the wet tile.
Zayne caught her immediately, steadying her against his chest.
They were both breathing hard from laughing.
Soaking wet.
Very close.
Too close.
Her hands on his chest.
His hands on her waist—that impossibly small waist.
Water dripping down both of them.
*This is dangerous. Different kind of dangerous. Good dangerous. Bad dangerous.*
"Truce?" she asked, looking up at him with bright eyes.
*Truce. Yes. Truce. Before this turns into something else.*
"Truce," he agreed.
They finished showering—actually washing this time, no more attacks.
But Zayne couldn't stop noticing things.
The way water ran down her body.
The way she hummed while washing her hair.
The way she was completely comfortable with him now.
Trusting.
Open.
*Mine.*
*She's mine.*
*Eventually, she'll be completely mine.*
*Someday.*
*When she's ready.*
*I can wait.*
*I think.*
*Maybe.*
*Probably not but I'll try.*
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
Post-shower, they'd settled on the couch.
Nana had immediately claimed her throne—Zayne's lap.
*This position. Always this position. Why is this always the position.*
"Zayne," she said seriously, looking up at him.
*Oh no. That's her serious face. This is going to be something.*
"Yes, hamster?"
"I want to learn something."
"Learn what?"
"How to be a french kiss master."
WHAT.
"A... master?"
"Yes! You kiss me and I get all breathless and dizzy and feel like melting! But when I kiss you, you're still all... composed! I want to make YOU breathless! Like you do to me!"
*She wants to destroy me. She wants to learn how to destroy me. This is a deliberate attack on my sanity.*
"You already make me breathless," he admitted.
"Really?"
"Really. You just don't notice because I'm better at hiding it."
"Then teach me to make it obvious! Teach me to kiss you until you can't think! Until you make those sounds! Until—"
*She's listing goals. She has kissing goals. My wife has set performance metrics for kissing.*
"Alright," he said, knowing this was a terrible idea but unable to refuse her. "Lesson one: Confidence. Kiss like you mean it. No hesitation."
"Okay!" She looked determined. Adorably determined.
"Lesson two: Pressure. Not too gentle. Firm. Purposeful."
"Firm!" She nodded seriously, like taking mental notes.
"Lesson three: Tongue. Don't be shy. Explore. Taste. Claim."
"CLAIM!" Her eyes lit up. "Yes! I like that! Claiming!"
*Why is she excited about claiming. Why is that cute. Why is everything she does cute.*
"Try," he said simply. "Show me what you learned."
She leaned in.
No hesitation this time.
Pressed her lips to his firmly—not gentle, not tentative.
Purposeful.
Oh.
*She learned.*
*She learned too well.*
Her tongue met his with confidence—exploring, tasting, exactly like he'd taught.
*This was a mistake. Teaching her was a mistake. Now she's good at it. Now she's—*
Her hands moved to his hair, fingers threading through, tugging slightly.
Oh god.
The kiss deepened.
She was following his lead—matching his intensity, his pressure, his movements.
But also adding her own.
Little things.
The way she tilted her head.
The small sound she made.
The way she pressed closer.
*She's a fast learner. Too fast. Dangerously fast.*
His hands moved automatically—one to her waist, the other to her back, pulling her against him.
*Stop. Should stop. This is getting—*
She made that sound.
That whimper.
*Control. Losing control. Can't lose control. We stopped. We're waiting. We—*
His body was responding.
Obviously responding.
In ways she could definitely feel because she was sitting on his lap and—
She pulled back, blinking.
"Why is sunflower poking me again?"
*SUNFLOWER. SHE'S ASKING ABOUT SUNFLOWER. WHILE SITTING ON MY LAP. AFTER KISSING ME LIKE THAT.*
Zayne closed his eyes.
Took a deep breath.
And then, very dramatically, fell sideways on the couch.
Playing dead.
Again.
"ZAYNE?!" Nana shrieked. "NOT AGAIN! You can't keep fake dying!"
*I can. I will. This is my only defense mechanism.*
"Are you dying from kissing?! Is that possible?! Can people die from good kissing?!"
*Yes. I'm dying. Death by wife's improved kissing skills. Death by sunflower questions. Death by everything.*
"I'M GETTING THE CPR READY!" she announced.
*No. Not the CPR. Not the Staying Alive song again.*
He sat up quickly. "I'm fine. I'm alive. No CPR needed."
"Then why did you DIE?!"
"Because—" *how do I explain* "—you asked about sunflower. Again. While sitting on me. After kissing me like THAT. My brain short-circuited."
"Oh!" She looked proud. "So I DID make you breathless! I did it! I'm a master!"
*Master. She's a master now. This is concerning. Very concerning.*
"Yes," he admitted. "You're a master. Congratulations. Can we please stop talking about sunflower now?"
"But—"
"NO. No sunflower talk. No poking. No naming. We're done with sunflower discussions."
She pouted but nodded.
"Can we kiss more though?"
*NO. YES. NO. I don't know anymore.*
"Later," he said. "After I recover. From your mastery."
She beamed, clearly taking that as a compliment.
*I've created a monster. A kissing monster. Who sits on my lap. And asks about sunflowers. And calls herself a master.*
*This is my life.*
*And honestly?*
*I love it.*
*Even the sunflower parts.*
*Especially the sunflower parts.*
*No.*
*Not the sunflower parts.*
*Never the sunflower parts.*
*...maybe a little the sunflower parts.*
*I need help.*
ZAYNE'S INTERNAL MONOLOGUE - 10:23 AM
Medical log - Day Seventeen - Honeymoon Day Three:
Morning events:
- Wife poked sunflower (again)
- Wife asked about morning erections
- Explained physiology (somehow)
- Wife claimed ownership of sunflower
- Showered together (mistake)
- Stared at her waist (too small)
- Stared at her chest (not small)
- Water fight happened (childish)
- Had fun (concerning)
- Wife wants to be "french kiss master"
- Taught her (MISTAKE)
- She succeeded (PROBLEM)
- Sunflower responded (obviously)
- Fake died (again)
- She threatened CPR (terrifying)
Current status: Recovering. Barely. Wife is proud of kissing skills. I'm doomed.
Realizations:
She grew up completely sheltered. Mansion. Homeschool. No boys. Strict parents. I'm the FIRST man she's known besides her father.
The first.
Everything is new to her. Everything.
That's why she's so innocent. So curious. So unaware of how she affects me.
She doesn't know that poking is torture.
Doesn't know that sitting on my lap is dangerous.
Doesn't know that asking about sunflowers while pressing against me is devastating.
She's learning everything from scratch.
From ME.
I'm responsible for her education.
Her understanding of... everything.
That's... that's significant.
Also terrifying.
Because she learns FAST.
Too fast.
She went from hesitant kisser to "master" in three days.
THREE DAYS.
At this rate, she'll be... I don't even want to think about it.
She claimed sunflower as hers.
"MY sunflower."
Possessive hamster.
Adorable possessive hamster.
Who pokes things.
Who names things.
Who masters things.
I'm in trouble.
Deep trouble.
But also...
Also I'm happy.
She's comfortable with me now.
Completely comfortable.
Trusts me.
Plays with me.
Fights with me.
Kisses me breathless.
That's... that's everything.
Even with the sunflower comments.
Even with the poking.
Even with all of it.
She's mine.
And I'm hers.
Apparently including sunflower.
Which I'm not acknowledging.
Ever.
Prescription for today:
- Survive wife's kissing mastery
- Avoid more shower fights
- Stop staring at her waist
- Stop thinking about sunflower
- Fail at all of the above
- Accept fate
- Love her anyway (always)
She's perfect.
Even when she destroys me.
Especially when she destroys me.
My innocent, curious, fast-learning, sunflower-claiming wife.
I love her.
So much.
Even though she's killing me.
Especially because she's killing me.
This is fine.
Everything is fine.
I'm fine.
(Sunflower is not fine.)
(STOP. NOT ACKNOWLEDGING. IT DOESN'T HAVE A NAME.)
(It's HER sunflower apparently.)
(I hate everything.)
(But also love everything.)
(Mostly love.)
(Definitely love.)
(Help.)
.
.
.
.
.
🌻🌻🌻
To be continued.