(Modern, bitches)

It takes you hours to finish unpacking up your stuff. While packing, you left out t-shirts filled with holes and old pairs of socks you've never seen in your life. It was like a recovery to look through your old stuff. Old music magazines, bookmarks you haven't seen since the beginning of middle school, stuffed animals you vaguely remember. Everything you wish to keep until the day they become ancient. 

"I feel like I'm done," you say to Maven as you walk into the living room. 

"I'm impressed." He says, standing up from his seat on the couch. You notice boxes still yet to be emptied by the front door before his body covers your view. 

"Wish I could say the same to you."

He looks at the clock then back at you as he takes a step forward, "I've just been patiently waited for your beautiful hands to help me unpack." 

You can feel the wind brush against your hair from a nearby open window. You have the urge to close it, leaving the fresh air outside. You almost smile as you do. Maven doesn't get a free house for his own anymore. Now that you're here, you have a few pet peeves you never realize existed. You lift your nose, "And you assume I'll help you because I am completely not busy, Maven Calore?" You realize where this thought came from. You have always loved organizing things, so Maven decorating the house on his own would not have been clever on his side. 

His hands find themselves on your waist as he pulls you closer.

"Definitely. And you love me very, very much."

Your lips part slowly before a smile falls upon your face. "Good point." 

He leans in close, so close you wonder if you're already kissing. The desire to pull him by his collar and claim him is strong but resistible. You pull back, clapping your hands as you escape his grasp. "Not until we finish unpacking, alright?"

His eyes flicker to you for a second and he cringes at himself.

"Adorable for you to assume I'm helping you decorate my house."

"Our house."

"Of course, (Y/N)."