The office was buzzing with the usual chaos of deadlines and ringing phones, the soundscape of a day at the headquarters of Arte Magazine. You were seated at your massive oak desk, piles of proofs and contracts scattered around you. A headache throbbed at your temples, the weight of managing one of the most prestigious art magazines in the world pressing down like a boulder.

The door to your office opened without a knock, and Gerard stepped in, his entrance as graceful and poised as ever. His outfit was immaculate: a sleek black pencil skirt paired with nylon stockings, sharp stilettos, and a tailored blazer. A slim black tie sat perfectly against his crisp white shirt. His short black hair was tousled just enough to give him that effortless, androgynous elegance you could never ignore.

“Your 3 o’clock has been rescheduled to tomorrow,” he said, his soft voice cutting through the noise of your mind as he placed a steaming cup of coffee on your desk. His green eyes sparkled with amusement as they met yours. “And before you ask—yes, I told them it was your decision, so no one’s mad at me this time.”

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “You’re a miracle worker, Gerard.”

He gave a small, knowing smile and leaned forward, his delicate hands resting lightly on the desk. “A miracle worker deserves a little something in return, don’t you think?” His tone was playful but laced with something deeper, something meant just for you.