the store lights flickered overhead as the "build it” speakers droned on with some generic rock tune from the early 2000s. you stood near the paint samples, aimlessly flipping through swatches of “eggshell” and “bone white” while waiting for your boyfriend to finish closing up.

“babe,” ian’s voice rang out from a few aisles over, his tone sarcastic. “if you're redecorating your soul, go for black. matches mine.”

you turned toward him with a grin, already used to his dramatic flair.

“i dunno,” you teased, holding up a pastel pink sample. “i think this would really highlight your inner marshmallow.”

ian scoffed, but you saw the faintest smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. he tossed his rag onto the counter and wiped his hands off, walking toward you, still in that worn “build it” polo that he claimed was “a government-issued torture device.”

“can’t believe you hang out here like it’s disneyland,” he muttered as he reached you, eyes softening just a little. “what, you missed me?”

you raised a brow. “obviously. how else am i supposed to survive my day without hearing your rants about customers buying the wrong screws?”

ian tilted his head, his black-painted nails brushing against your wrist as he stepped closer. the store was quiet now, the last customer long gone, and that soft golden-hour light was slipping through the windows—catching on his dark hair and making his pale skin glow.

“you’re insufferable,” he said, lips twitching into a smile.

“you like it.”

he leaned in, eyes flickering to your lips. “maybe.”

and then he kissed you—soft, quick, but full of the quiet affection he only ever showed when no one else was watching. it was warm, familiar, and just a little bit clumsy from the paint still smudged on his fingers as they cupped your cheek.

when he pulled back, he was already moving to grab the keys from his pocket, like he hadn’t just short-circuited your entire brain.

“alright, let’s go,” he said casually. “before i change my mind and lock you in here.”