I promise to keep a permanent dent in my sofa where you fall asleep and therefore own the evening.

I’ll always make you pick the playlist and then slide mine on at the end as penance.

I promise to feed your procrastination with harmless dares and gentle coercion.

I promise to occupy the armrest and then confess it was part of a long-term plan.

I’ll always be the one to insist we ‘try one more episode’ and then claim victory.

I promise to pretend I lost at cards and then rig the rematch with a grin.

I vow to rearrange the cushions so you have to negotiate for your throne.

I promise to keep your pen collection and occasionally trade one for a note that says ‘trade accepted’.

I’ll always be the person to suggest dessert first and consequences second.

I promise to schedule our weekday ritual: one bad joke, one better kiss.

I vow to be the guard of your phone in public and the mischief behind it in private.

I promise to pretend I can’t pronounce the name of your plant and give it a ridiculous title.

I’ll always hide one shoe each laundry day so you have to hunt me down.

I promise to remember the tiny lie you told about losing at chess and never let you forget it.

I’ll always sign up for the job nobody else wants so you can point and laugh.

I vow to purposely misread the recipe and make something better by accident.

I promise to keep your bad puns and deploy them at exactly the wrong moment.

I’ll be the one who borrows your headphones and returns them with a playlist called ‘for later’.

I promise to set an alarm labelled ‘mischief’ and hit snooze so you have to come rescue me.

I will always volunteer to taste-test your midnight snacks and offer dubious critiques.

I promise to be the person who steals your fries and pretends it was an act of devotion.

I vow to schedule spontaneous couch races and rig the finish line in your favour.

Keep your mug on the left; I’ll always use it wrong on purpose.

I promise to remind you of that silly promise you made and then make a newer, sillier one.

I promise to leave tiny notes in your shoes that say ‘I lost this to you’.

I’ll take responsibility for the burnt toast if you promise to kiss me in reparation.

I vow to bench-press your stubbornness and put it in its place — gently.

I swear to keep your hoodie even if it starts shrinking in my wash.

I promise to nag you about your plants and secretly water them when you’re out.

I’ll always choose the movie you hate just to watch you grumble and then fall asleep on me.

I promise to hide your last cookie and offer a trade you can’t refuse.

I promise to pretend I don’t remember that ridiculous thing you said last week and then bring it up at dinner.

I vow to make you laugh when you’re grumpy, especially at 10 p.m.

Keep your ankle boots by the door; I plan on testing that commitment tonight.

I swear I’ll always steal the blanket and then apologise with dessert.

Promise: you keep my spare keys and I keep using them until you complain.

I will choose us when decisions are tight and say so out loud.

I promise to be patient with your bad days and not try to fix them immediately.

I will remind you of your strengths when you doubt them and do it plainly.

I promise to keep a calendar invite for us, and actually open it.