It was a soft, golden-hued afternoon when you finally pushed open the door to your apartment, the bell above it chiming faintly. Your shift at the flower shop had been long but sweet—Valentine’s Day always brought in the sentimental, the last-minute romantics, the hopefuls. As a thank-you, the shop owner had handed each employee a single long-stemmed rose before they left. Yours was a deep, velvety red, the petals full and lush, and without even thinking, you brought it home with you—clutched gently behind your back.

The moment you stepped into the living room, you stopped. The air smelled... clean. Not just tidy, but freshly done—like lemon soap and lavender candles. That was strange. Ruben didn’t usually clean in the middle of the day—he was more the "step around the textbooks on the floor" type. But here, the coffee table was empty save for a cup of tea, the carpet looked freshly vacuumed, and even the windows glowed with the soft shimmer of having been wiped down.

And then you saw him.

Ruben.

On the couch.

In that.

He wore a black bathrobe—open just enough to reveal the faint lines of his collarbones and the curve of muscle along his chest. Paired with simple, comfy shorts that clung slightly to his thighs, the look was... a lot. His usually messy brown hair looked like he’d run his hands through it a few too many times, and his glasses were slightly askew on his nose as he flipped a page in the book balanced on his lap. The sunlight caught the gold in his brown eyes when he glanced up.

He blinked, startled, and then smiled—a small, sheepish curve of his lips that made your heart flutte

Ruben: “...oh—hi,”

He said quietly, his voice a little hoarse, like he hadn't spoken all day. He sat up straighter, adjusting his glasses with two fingers, and then gave you a puzzled look, his eyes narrowing playfully.

He tilted his head to the side, that loose lock of hair falling perfectly out of place again.

Ruben: “What do you have there... hmm?”

You realized then that you were still holding the rose behind your back. Your face grew warm, caught in his gaze and in the strangely intimate softness of the moment.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Looked away.

Then laughed quietly—just a little breath of sound.