A/N: Hi guys! It's been a while since I've written anything. This one has been sitting in my documents for a couple months now. Finally got around to finishing it up. I think it's turned out to be one of my favorites that I've written. Leave a review/comment and let me know what you guys think!

Enjoy! :)

Beca's P.O.V.:

30 years old:

I don't have an obsession. There's just something about that term that I've always found to sort of imply the aura of a creep. Someone who would follow you around in a nondescript car and secretly take hundreds of pictures of you. I don't believe it's particularly creepy. I certainly don't regret anything about it. Maybe I have an addiction. An addiction is defined as the state of being enslaved to a habit or practice. Oh yeah, definitely enslaved. I certainly am powerless against the pull. I have no control over myself. I always just have to give in. Yeah, that's what it is. An addiction.

16 years old:

I grimace at myself. What the fuck am I doing?! Quit being a fucktard, Mitchell. Just do it, dammit! I look across the cab at you. You've got one hand on the steering wheel of the pickup and one on the console between us. The hand on the console is what draws my attention. I bite my lip in contemplation as I glance up at you. You keep your eyes trained on the road, a tiny furrow between blonde eyebrows as you concentrate on driving. I look back at the hand between us. I take a deep breath and hold it as I reach over. I slide my own palm beneath yours and interlace our fingers. I release my breath as I feel your fingers squeeze mine gently. You glance over and smile at me before turning your attention back to the road.

20 years old:

Why does time always seem to slow down at moments like this? The lights lining the handrails of the pier are really blurry right now, yet your eyes are so clear. They are crystal clear but I cannot read a goddamned thing that's going on in your mind. But then again maybe that's because I'm an anxious mess right now. I think I'm gonna pass out. At least I'm close to the ground. You're just staring at me. Why are you just staring at me? You're just staring at me. Oh, god. Is that a tear? Why are you crying? You don't have to. It was just a question. Oh wow, my arms are shaking. Please don't drop the ring you fucking idiot. This thing was too expensive to fall through a goddamn crack and into the ocean. Wait… was that a nod?! That was a nod! Wait… make sure.

"Yeah?" I ask hesitantly.

You shake your head so violently I'm slightly afraid for your neck. "Yes," you manage through tears.

I grab your left hand and slide the ring onto the third finger before pressing a kiss right below the simple engagement band. As I stand, I pull you into my arms, pressing my face into your neck. Blinking back the happy tears that threaten to spill, I can't help but laugh without even knowing why and honestly I don't fucking care because goddamn you just made my life. As the adrenaline of the moment fades, I finally take notice of the applauding crowd we seem to have drawn. Once again I have to laugh. Still don't know why. I relinquish my grip, pulling you into a searing kiss before breaking it to grab your hand again and place another kiss on your newly decorated finger.

22 years old:

Still wondering why time goes so fucking slow sometimes. But hey, this time I'm not complaining because watching you walk toward me has got to be the best thing I will ever see in my entire life. Once again, the lights are blurry but your eyes are still so clear. Although this time I can read it all. I know what that sparkle means. Oh wow, you're already here. Whoa. Do me a favor and smile at me like that every day for the rest of my life. Okay?

…

Jesus Christ. How long is this dude going to ramble? We get it. Pretty sure they all know why they're here. They got invitations. For the love of God, just let me tell her I love her and kiss her already. Oh, okay, the vows. I got this.

…

I think I had that. Not entirely sure because you were looking at me with those gorgeous eyes and I honestly wasn't paying much attention to what came out of my mouth. You're still smiling at me though, so I think that means I didn't fuck it up. But then again, maybe you weren't paying that much attention either. Your mother is crying. Is that good or bad? Does she really like me or was that just an act because she thought you would break up with me eventually anyway? Oh, she's smiling now. We're good. Back to your eyes.

…

Ring time. Quit looking at me like that for a moment so I can concentrate on not dropping your ring. Have I ever told you I hate crowds? More specifically, I hate being emotional in front of crowds. But you pouted and gave me that damn look because you wanted a big wedding so if I do drop your ring, I think I'm gonna have to say it's your fault.

When my brother hands me the ring I notice just how bad my hands are shaking.

Yes, Matthew, I know my hands are sweating. Don't think I didn't see you wipe your hand on your pant leg, jerk.

When I turn back toward you, you give me that smile again and I damn near let it slip. The preacher dude tells me to repeat after him so I do, but honestly I once again have no idea what all I just said. All I know is that when I go to slide the ring on your finger my hands are shaking so bad I literally almost miss. Everybody chuckles and I can literally feel the heat of my blush as I finally manage to slide it on, but when I look back into your eyes, nothing has changed-the only thing I see in them is love. And when I gently push it back to rest against your engagement band, it feels amazing. This time is soooo much better than that first time—this ring looks so much better. I have to. There's no way I just can't. Without looking away from your gorgeous, smiling face, I lift your hand to place a kiss on that exact same finger that I put a ring on two years ago and again ten seconds ago.

24 years old:

When you told me you were pregnant, I was ecstatic. And then I was disgusted and a little miffed, because you know most people tell their spouses over dinner or something like that, but no. You had literally just woke me up at 8:00 on a Saturday morning and held a pee-covered stick not even six inches from my face. But when I looked past that pee-covered stick and saw your face, I went back to being happy again because it finally clicked what that little plus sign meant. We were having a baby.

So now we are here. In the hospital. In the process of having a baby (well, one of us is anyway). You're kind of breaking my hand there. Seriously though that really fucking hurts. I honestly was not aware you had quite this much strength in your fingers.

I get that you're in pain and all, and I do hate seeing you in pain, but I would like to have both hands fully functioning to hold our child. Okay, one last push. You got this. You also have the strength of a fucking python. Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow. OWW!

…

"She looks like you." Which I'm pretty glad she does, because how creepy would it be if she didn't. We'd just have this miniature version of some random dude we don't even know running around our house. Not that it would change anything, it's just weird to think about.

She's so tiny. I might be just a teeny bit in love with how gentle your hands are now compared to earlier when you were grinding all of the bones in my hand into a fine powder.

25 years old:

Not again. Please no.

Of course, we're both wide awake now and staring at the baby monitor sitting on the corner of the dresser. And of course she fails to heed my silent pleas. That's just like her. She's as stubborn as you.

For the third time tonight Mandi is screaming. God teething sucks.

"No, lay back down, babe. I'll get her."

…

Mandi baby, come on. It's been thirty minutes. Mama just wants to go back to bed. I know it hurts, but you've already rejected every type of pacifier your mommy bought. I really don't know what else to do for you. Maybe mommy will know. I'm sure she's not asleep. How could she be with your ear piercing shrieks?

See, I knew she'd be awake (not really, but I would have woken her up anyway).

…

Oh don't give me that look, Posen. Your smug amusement is not attractive at five in the morning. Okay, that's a lie, but it doesn't mean I'm in the mood for it.

"Move over. We've got company." Loud and kind-of-bossy-for-a-sixth-month-old company.

Wait…I know you did not just…

"Really?! I tried for thirty minutes and it only takes you thirty seconds. I should've brought her to you twenty-nine minutes ago."

That really is adorable though so I can't really bring myself to be that aggravated.

Who knew all she needed was her mommy to rub her gums for her?

28 years old:

"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

Not really. But it makes me feel better to blame you so deal with it.

Oh hush, Posen. You are not the one in labor. You do not get to tell me what I do and don't 'got.'

I'm gonna fucking kill you. You made this look so easy.

"I wanna go home." I resent the fact that even I can tell I sound a little desperate.

"Uh, Beca, you're kind of in the middle of having a baby here."

"No, I don't want to. It hurts. I wanna go home."

No, don't run your hands through my hair. You know that's my kryptonite.

Ugh, fine. I'll finish having our baby boy. But that doctor better be ready to catch because I'm getting this over with.

30 years old:

Okay, maybe it is an obsession. But can you blame me?

How could I not be obsessed with my wife's hands?

I'm in love with everything about them. From the way they feel wrapped around mine, to how you run them through Thomas' hair when he jumps out of his bed and into ours at night. I love how they soothe every single one of our terribly clumsy children's boo-boos. I love how they soothe me after a long day at work. I love the way your wedding ring glints against your skin in the moonlight in our bedroom after we finally get the kids to go to asleep.

Yeah, I guess you could call it an obsession, but I wouldn't even think about changing it.