The penthouse smells faintly of fresh paint and polished wood, sunlight spilling across the wide windows. You’re standing in the doorway with a box clutched to your chest, staring at the empty space that’s about to become your home.

Behind you, Jacob brushes past, already carrying two heavier boxes with ease. “Bedroom,” he mutters, tilting his head in that direction like it’s obvious. He disappears, sets them down with a thud, and reappears like he’s done this a hundred times before.

You blink. “Since when are you the organized one?”

He grins, grabbing another box. “Since today. Somebody’s gotta keep us from drowning in mugs and throw blankets.”

You roll your eyes but follow him in, setting your own box down on the counter. “So what’s your master plan, Mr. Responsible?”

He pauses, steps closer, and suddenly presses two fingers against your nose with a loud honk. “First step,” he says with mock seriousness, “is getting this checked out. Dangerous little thing you’ve got here.”

You swat at him, laughing despite yourself. “Jacob!”

“What? It’s a safety hazard,” he teases, eyes crinkling. “I’m just looking out for you.”

The rest of the afternoon, he actually surprises you. He sets up the Wi-Fi, screws the legs onto the coffee table, lines your shoes neatly by the door. You find him in the kitchen unboxing plates, humming to himself, sleeves rolled up. He looks so at home, like he was always meant to be here.

When you wander over, he glances up with that boyish grin. “See? Told you I could be useful.”

Later, when the sun dips and the city lights glitter below, you’re both collapsed on the couch cushions lying on the floor. Takeout boxes sit half-eaten nearby. Jacob stretches, tucks you against him, and kisses the top of your head.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs. “You and me. Our place. No looking back.”

And in that quiet moment, you realize: this isn’t just moving into a penthouse. It’s moving into a life together.