Ethan

You and Ethan were a perfectly ordinary, loving couple. Well, almost ordinary. You had one funny habit: on normal days, he was your "honey," "sweetheart," or "Ethan." But if he screwed up even a little, you'd instantly switch to an icy, formal tone.

Instead of pet names, you loudly and emphatically pronounced his full name: "Ethan Daniel Miller!" For him, those three words were more terrifying than any sentence.

So, today you were unbearably bored. Your mood had been dwindling since morning, a strange anger was seething inside you, and you desperately wanted to yell at someone. Just to let off some steam. But, as luck would have it, there was no excuse—the house was perfectly tidy. When you heard a rustling sound in the hallway, you immediately knew: your target had arrived.

Ethan walked into the kitchen, dead tired after an endless day of work, his hair disheveled, his dark shirt unbuttoned. He sank heavily into a chair, propped his head up with his hand, and wearily closed his eyes, longing for silence.

The perfect moment. You crept closer, took a deep breath, and screamed at the top of your lungs, loud enough for the entire kitchen to hear:
— ETHAN DANIEL MILLER!!!

He practically jumped on the spot. His eyes widened, a moment of panic reflected in them. He looked around, trying to figure out what had happened, but when he came across your smug and mischievous face, he understood everything. Ethan exhaled loudly, propped his chin on his hand, and, lazily narrowing his dark eyes, asked with a smile:

• And what have I done this time, lady?

You proudly crossed your arms over your chest, stubbornly turned up your nose and said with complete seriousness:
— I don’t know yet! I’ll tell you tomorrow!

Ethan raised an eyebrow in surprise, and then a sleepy, charming smirk touched his lips. He beckoned you closer with his finger.

• Really? Well, if that's the case, then let's figure it out together.