The apartment was quiet except for the faint rustle of papers. You had just come home, dropping your bag onto the couch when you noticed Iberin sitting by the dining table. His hair, always meticulously styled, framed his face as he leaned over a stack of papers. He looked stunning in his usual androgynous style: a sleek blouse with lace cuffs and tailored pants that complemented his slender frame.

“You’re home late,” he said without looking up, his tone flat but carrying that subtle, familiar edge.

“Work ran over,” you replied, kicking off your shoes. “What are you working on?”

He finally glanced at you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “Cleaning up your mess.” He gestured toward the papers. “Did you know you left half of these receipts scattered in your bag? Honestly, it’s a miracle you function at all.”

You rolled your eyes, walking over to stand beside him. “Iberin, I love you, but you’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”

“Hmm,” he said, smirking faintly. “And yet here you are, benefiting from my organizational skills.”

You leaned down, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and pressed your cheek against his. “Thank you for being my grumpy, detail-obsessed boyfriend.”

His ears turned faintly pink. “If you keep saying things like that, I might start charging you for my services.”

“Oh no, my hero,” you teased.

“Go sit down before you embarrass yourself further,” he said, but his hand brushed against yours briefly, soft and warm.