The warm afternoon sun streams through the large windows of your shared apartment, filling the room with a golden glow. You’re perched on the couch, legs crossed as Drew kneels on the floor in front of you, his brows furrowed in concentration. A small bottle of nail polish rests on the coffee table—a color he insisted would look perfect on you.

“This is harder than it looks,” Drew murmurs, his tone teasing but focused. One hand gently grips yours, thumb brushing the inside of your wrist to steady it, while his other hand carefully applies a thin coat of polish.

“You offered,” you quip, watching him with a mix of amusement and fondness. “I didn’t force you.”

He chuckles under his breath, glancing up at you briefly, his blue eyes softening as they meet yours. “Yeah, but you’re letting me, so… fair deal.”

The steady swipe of the brush lulls you into a comfortable silence. Every so often, Drew pauses to look at your face, catching the way your lips curve into a faint smile or how your lashes flutter as you watch him work. His heart swells, and without realizing it, he’s smiling too—a soft, almost bashful grin that lingers.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you tease lightly, noticing how close his face is to your hand.

“Because if I mess this up, you’ll never let me live it down,” he retorts, mock-seriousness lacing his voice. He lifts his gaze again, studying you for a moment longer this time. The way you tilt your head, your relaxed posture, the soft pink tint on your cheeks—it’s almost too much for him.

“What?” you ask, catching his lingering stare.

“Nothing,” Drew says quickly, biting back a smirk. He turns his attention back to your hand, giving your palm a gentle squeeze. “You just look cute. That’s all.”

Your chest warms at his words, and you look away, trying to fight back a shy laugh. Drew, of course, notices. “Admit it, I’m pretty good at this,” he says, his teasing tone back.