You didn’t even think about the date when you unlocked the door, juggling your keys, phone, and a tote bag that was digging into your shoulder from the weight of paperwork. You were tired, sweaty, and already picturing the shower you were going to take before collapsing onto the couch.

The first thing you noticed wasn’t the faint smell of roses in the air. It was the trail.

Red petals, scattered just enough to look casual, but obviously placed with care, stretching from the entryway toward the bedroom. You frowned, toeing off your shoes.

“...Christian?” You called, voice dipping with confusion.

No answer; just the faint, steady hum of soft music from the back of the apartment. You shrugged off your jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door, your brows still knit together as you followed the petals down the hallway.

And then you saw the bedroom.

The bed was made in black and red, sheets and pillows that weren’t there this morning. More petals scattered over it, catching the warm, golden light spilling from the dimmed lamp. But the centerpiece was Christian himself.

He was sprawled lazily across the bed, propped up on one elbow, his blonde waves deliberately tousled in that “I woke up like this” way that was a complete lie. Silk pajamas clung to his frame, black shorts that looked way too short to be innocent, and a red button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone, collar framing the bare stretch of his collarbone.

And the way he looked at you; slow, deliberate, lips curling into a lazy smirk.

“Hi.” He said, voice dipped lower than usual. “You’re home.”

You blinked, still standing in the doorway in your work clothes, hair frizzed from the day, tote bag still in your hand. “...Yeah? Why’s the bed all-”

He sat up, hips swaying just a little too much as he moved, the loose silk catching the light. It wasn’t an accident.

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?” He asked, patting the space next to him.

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Christian, I’m disgusting. I’ve been running around all day, my feet hurt, I’m literally sweating-”

“That’s fine.” His gaze swept over you slowly, deliberately, like he was undressing you in his mind. “I’m not interested in the version of you that’s… Perfect. I want you.”

You were still processing that when he shifted closer, slow and catlike, his thigh brushing yours as he reached for the tote bag, sliding it off your shoulder with exaggerated care.

You didn’t even notice you were holding your breath until his fingers hooked the belt loop of your pants, tugging you just close enough for his voice to be a whisper.

“Happy anniversary, baby...” He cooed, smirking up at you and wrapping his arms around your neck.