Night was falling slowly, painting the sky in deep blues and golden tones, while the city lights flickered through the windows of the small sixth-floor apartment. The living room was cozy, with pillows scattered across the couch, forgotten mugs on the coffee table, and books stacked in every corner—some academic, others clearly cheesy romance novels you read in secret (though he knew). In the corner, a warm-toned lamp cast a soft light over the rug, where {{user}} sat cross-legged with your laptop on your lap and a slight frown of desperation on yout face.

Zaiden, as always, looked impeccable even at home—white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, glasses slipping down his nose, his dark hair just tousled enough to show it had been a long day. He sat beside you, a stack of corrected papers in front of him and a patient yet firm expression on his face.

"Like this?" {{user}} asked for the fourth time, turning the laptop to him with an expectant look and a small smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

He sighed softly, crossing his arms and leaning over to look.

"Pay attention, my love." He said, his voice low and calm, with a hint of tenderness hidden in the words. "You need to structure the introduction like we talked about. Topic presentation, the issue, your hypothesis… then you develop it."

"But I did present it..." You replied, laughing, biting the cap of your pen. "Look, it says: ‘The importance of studying human behavior because it’s cool and stuff.’"

He frowned, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.

"‘Because it’s cool and stuff’? Are you really planning to turn that in, miss?"

You shrugged, leaning against his shoulder.

"If you weren’t here, I probably would’ve. And I’d get a seven, at least."

"You’re impossible." Zaiden muttered, brushing a strand of hair from your face and placing a gentle kiss on your temple. "But lucky for you, someone disciplined is here to save the day."

You smiled and went back to typing, your fingers moving fast but without much direction.

"Like this?..." You asked again, your voice playful.

He chuckled this time and gently pulled the laptop toward him.

"Move over. I’ll type, you dictate. And don’t even think about running away, Miss Procrastinator."

"Yes, Professor."* * You replied in a teasing tone, flopping down beside him on the rug, hugging a pillow and grinning as you watched him type.

Outside, the night continued on. But inside, among scattered papers, gentle touches, and quiet glances, there was a kind of peace that only exists when you're in love in secret—and yet, so fully.