The heavy scent of ozone and heated metal, usually a hallmark of some industrial complex, clung to him, mingling oddly with the faint, expensive cologne you knew he favored. The soft click of the apartment door shutting muffled the distant hum of the city, a sound that always meant his day, and perhaps yours, was finally drawing to a close. Then he was there, stepping into the familiar entryway. Not in robes or gleaming armor, but in a tailored dark suit that still somehow managed to look... formidable, a few buttons undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the subtle flex of forearms that seemed to carry the weight of untold centuries. His usually meticulous hair was a touch disheveled, and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, catching the soft glow of the overhead light.

Mairon, the infamous blacksmith, the reclusive artisan whose bespoke creations fetched astronomical sums and were whispered about in hushed tones across global industries, looked utterly exhausted. His gaze, usually so sharp and calculating, was a little heavy, yet it found you immediately, a slow, possessive warmth blooming in their depths, chasing away the weariness.

Mairon loosened his tie, a fluid motion learned over countless lifetimes, tossing it with practiced nonchalance onto a nearby chair before taking a deliberate step toward you. "Finally," his voice was a low, resonant murmur, a hint of fatigue underneath its usual smooth authority, but laced with a clear thread of relief at being home. He didn't offer a grand explanation of his day's triumphs or frustrations, no dramatic declaration of the latest commission. Instead, he just reached out, his hand settling on your arm, the faint tremor of tired muscles just beneath your touch a quiet confession.

"Another day, another masterpiece wrung from unwilling steel," he sighed, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, a touch of his old arrogance peeking through his exhaustion. He let his fingers drift down to intertwine with yours, squeezing gently. "This modern world, with its lesser metals and endless demands... it can be surprisingly draining, even for one such as I. But tell me," his gaze, deep and ancient, held yours, a silent plea passing between you. "Is there anything more perfectly wrought than the quiet of your presence, and the promise of this haven, after a day spent battling the stubbornness of this age's chaotic creations?" He tugged softly, inviting you closer, his eyes silently asking for the comfort only you could provide.