Afterwards, tangled with her in the softened light filtering through the curtains, Andy let out a low, contented sigh and nuzzled her neck. "You know," he murmured, his voice lazy and warm, "we are so decadent."

  Summer shifted, her fingers drawing idle shapes along his spine. "Oh?" she asked, smiling sleepily.

  "Mmm." He kissed her collarbone, then rested his chin just above her heart. "Middle of the day. On a Saturday. Sun's up, birds are chirping, and here we are, shamelessly naked and blissed out. Like we're some sort of scandalous aristocrats with nothing better to do."

  She laughed softly against his skin. "Should I call you 'my lord' now?"

  He hummed in mock thought. "Only if you're going to feed me grapes next."

  She nudged him playfully, but didn't move away. "We could be productive."

  He stretched just a little, every inch of it smug. "We were productive. Emotionally nourishing. Physically beneficial. Excellent for stress." He eyed her up and down. "I'm corrupting you. Soon you'll be demanding grapes peeled for you, and wearing silk robes you don't actually need."

  Summer made a soft, mock-horrified noise. "I don't even own a silk robe."

  Andy grinned. "Then I'll get you one. Something in midnight blue. Or blood red."

  She rolled her eyes, but the colour in her cheeks gave her away. "Stop that."

  "Never," he whispered, pressing a kiss just under her jaw. "You deserve every indulgence, and I fully intend to be a terrible influence."

  "You're ridiculous."

  "I'm fantastic," he corrected. "I'm a courtesan, darling. Decadence is part of the brand." He shifted to look at her with a mock-serious glint in his eye. "You, though... you might be a secret hedonist." He went quiet for a few moments, stroking her bare shoulder absentmindedly as his mind wandered.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked, her voice soft.

  He blinked, then gave her a sheepish little smile. "Just... trying to figure out what would be the most fun way to spoil you."

  Summer snorted. "Do you think I don't buy things for myself?"

  He looked genuinely taken aback for a second. "No! No, I didn't mean it like that."

  She arched an eyebrow.

  "I just — " he ran a hand through his hair, clearly scrambling. "I know you can buy yourself things, but that's not the point. Spoiling someone isn't about what they need or can afford. It's about making them feel seen. Cherished. Giving them the little things that say 'I noticed you liked this' or 'I thought of you'."

  Summer's gaze softened a little, though her tone stayed teasing. "That's a lot of philosophy for a courtesan."

  Andy grinned. "I contain multitudes."

  She gave a huff of amused disbelief and settled against him again. "Okay then, Mr. Multitudes. What would you get me?"

  "First? A ridiculously soft hoodie that smells like me," he said at once, "because I like the idea of you wearing it when I'm not here. And maybe — " he gave her a slow look, " — a set of gemstone dice. Not because you need them, but because you light up when you talk gaming, and I want you to think of me when you roll a nat 20."

  Summer was quiet for a second. Then: "You're trouble."

  "Yep. Deluxe, limited-edition trouble," Andy agreed smugly, and kissed the top of her head. "Anyway," he continued, lightly tugging at a lock of her hair, "it's obvious you don't spoil yourself enough. And as your very dedicated, endlessly attentive boyfriend — "

  She gave him a Look, half suspicious and half flustered.

  He grinned, devilish and sincere. "Yes, that word. I love that word. Say it for me."

  "Boyfriend," she muttered, ducking her face against his chest.

  "Mmm. Better each time." He kissed her temple. "As your boyfriend, I hereby take it as my solemn duty to make sure you're spoiled at least once a week. Possibly once a day. I haven't decided yet."

  "That sounds like an unsustainable pace."

  "Oh no, I'm extremely sustainable. Renewable resource, even. Especially if I get fed."

  She laughed against him. "You're going to be intolerable, aren't you?"

  "I certainly hope so," he said, smug and warm and wrapped around her like he never wanted to leave. He paused, then added softly, "But only if it makes you happy."

  She didn't answer right away — just held on a little tighter. He didn't push.

  After a moment, she murmured, "You're already making me happy. It's a little scary."

  He tipped her chin up gently so he could see her face. "Me too," he whispered. "But I think that's how you know it matters."

  * * *

  Sunday arrived slower than usual, golden and soft through Summer's curtains. They lingered through breakfast, reluctant to break the cocoon of comfort they'd built — but eventually, Andy pressed a kiss to her temple and said, "Come see my lair, before you start thinking I don't actually live anywhere."

  Summer snorted. "I'm half convinced you appear fully formed from moonlight and leather jackets."

  Andy beamed. "Close. My closet is made entirely of questionable fashion decisions."

  So by late morning, they were in his car, music low, city sliding by. The sunlight spilled golden through the windshield, and Summer kept sneaking glances at Andy's profile like she still couldn't believe he was real. His apartment was in a quietly stylish building, modern but a little worn around the edges and tucked into a leafy older neighbourhood. It was unexpectedly quiet. She held his hand as they climbed the stairs to his apartment. The moment Andy unlocked the door, he hesitated, then glanced back at her.

  "It's not much," he warned. "I'm hardly ever here. Mostly just a place to sleep, shower, and hoard too many jackets."

  Summer gave him a look, half fond, half amused. "You're a literal courtesan. If there weren't too many jackets, I'd be disappointed."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Andy snorted softly and pushed the door open.

  Summer stepped inside — and blinked.

  It was tidy, at least in the way of someone who knew where everything was even if no one else would. Art on the walls — most of it moody and abstract, with a couple of stark portraits. A rich red rug in the living room, a neat pair of boots by the door, the faintest lingering scent of incense. His couch was suede leather, soft grey, and looked like it had seen better days. The bookshelf was full — novels, vinyls, odd objects like vintage perfume bottles and a pewter skull. The bedroom, visible through a cracked door, had black sheets.

  She wandered in slowly, turning in place, absorbing. "This feels like you," she said finally. "Like... the inside of your eyeliner-wearing heart."

  He snorted. "That's the nicest insult I've ever gotten."

  "Not an insult," Summer said, brushing a finger across the worn arm of the couch. "I like it. It's theatrical, but real. Like you. Like someone who sleeps in black silk sheets and forgets to hang his jackets."

  "... I do not have silk sheets," Andy said, mock-affronted. "They slide around too much."

  She laughed and wandered to the bookshelf, fingertips brushing over spines of books, half-melted candles, photograph frames.

  He followed her gaze, heart thudding strangely. "I haven't had anyone here... in this context. Not since I moved in."

  She turned to him, surprise flickering through her features. "Not even — ?"

  "No. This is my private space," he said quietly. "Even friends ... not like this. Not you."

  Her expression softened. She stepped close and rested a hand lightly on his chest. "I'm honoured, then."

  He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "I meant it when I said you're everything." His grin tilted crooked. "Now. Want to see the questionable fashion choices closet?"

  Summer smirked. "Lead the way, my moonlight courtesan."

  Andy gave a theatrical bow and gestured dramatically toward the hallway. "This way, m'lady. Prepare to behold the unholy union of velvet and mesh."

  Summer followed, still laughing, into the small bedroom. The bed was neatly made in black and deep plum, jewellery organised in little trays on the dresser. But it was the walk-in closet — double doors flung wide — that made her pause.

  "... Oh wow."

  He leaned against the doorframe smugly. "Told you."

  Inside was a symphony of texture and colour: leather jackets in black, wine, forest green; sheer shirts in dark patterns and florals; trousers in shades of silver and charcoal; and more boots than any one man should legally own. Beneath were low shelves with accessories: belts with ornate buckles, lace gloves and leather gloves, hats with spikes and feathers.

  Summer stepped in, turning slowly. "This is like a magical wardrobe from a glam rock Narnia."

  Andy grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

  "It's not." She lifted a glittering shirt between two fingers. "I've never met anyone who dresses with this much commitment."

  "You've never had to be ornamental for a living," Andy said. "Sometimes patrons want a vibe. Sometimes I want a vibe."

  She looked at him over her shoulder. "And when you're not working?"

  He shrugged, suddenly shy. "Still dress a little extra. Makes me feel like me."

  Summer nodded slowly, then turned to lean against the closet's frame opposite him. "I like you like this. But I'd like you in sweats, too."

  Andy raised an eyebrow. "Would you? Should I test this theory?"

  Summer grinned. "I dare you. Hoodie. Right now."

  He gasped. "You monster." But he opened a drawer and pulled one out anyway — dark grey and scandalously soft — and changed right there in front of her, tossing his band tee onto the bed with flair. Summer stared, half admiring, half amused.

  "You realize this just proves you're hot no matter what," she said.

  Andy stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "I don't mind being hot. As long as I'm hot for you."

  She rolled her eyes, flushed, and kissed him — just once, but it made his knees a little weak.

  "Come on," she said. "Show me the rest of your place. I want to see what kind of dishes a courtesan owns."

  Andy blinked. "...You're going to be disappointed. I have, like, three mugs."

  She took his hand anyway. "Perfect. That means I get to choose your next one."

  "Wait," Andy said, grinning as he followed her toward the kitchen. "Does this mean we're entering the 'mug gifting' phase of the relationship?"

  Summer laughed. "Better believe it."

  In the kitchen, he opened a cabinet to reveal a sad, mismatched collection: a chipped skull mug, one black one that said Witch's Brew, and a plain white one with a fading band logo. "Behold," he said, "the underwhelming gallery of hydration."

  Summer leaned in to inspect them. "You weren't kidding. This is tragic."

  "I'm a minimalist," Andy said, too quickly.

  "You're a maximalist with clothes. And makeup. And accessories." She picked up the skull mug and turned it in her hands. "You just don't drink enough hot beverages."

  He snorted. "You're really going to buy me a mug?"

  "You already bought me a dress," Summer said, setting the mug down and looking up at him. "And not a cheap one. Mugs are like ten bucks."

  Andy gave her a wounded look. "Excuse me, I didn't buy that dress. I selected it. Carefully. With intention. That's art, not commerce."

  Summer leaned against the counter, arms folded, teasing. "Mmm. So you're saying a carefully chosen mug wouldn't carry the same weight?"

  He narrowed his eyes playfully. "Don't twist my words, woman."

  She smirked. "I'm just saying — you've already gone full high-drama with me. One of us has to balance things out."

  Andy raised an eyebrow. "So this is mug-based equity?"

  "This is me saying I get to spoil you sometimes, too. And," she said, tugging at his shirt hem, "I want to see you drink out of a decent mug."

  "That's the most aggressively domestic thing anyone's ever said to me," he murmured, letting her pull him closer.

  "I'm full of surprises," she replied, eyes gleaming.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning down to nuzzle her temple. "What kind of mug are you thinking? Something tasteful? I feel like you're going to go with a frog in a sweater or something."

  "A frog in a sweater sounds amazing." She giggled. "But no, I'll be strategic. You'll get one classy mug for brooding mornings, one cute one for when I'm here, and maybe a third that's just wildly inappropriate for polite company."

  "I knew I was dating a dangerous woman," Andy said. "This is how it starts. A mug. Next thing I know, you're reorganizing my closet."

  Summer gave him a sly smile. "Too late. I already mentally sorted it by mood."

  Andy groaned dramatically. "Help. I'm being domesticated."

  She kissed his jaw. "You're being loved."

  Andy went very still. Then he let out a breath and held her tighter. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I think I really am."

  After a moment, Summer pulled back. He felt her mood shift as she held onto his hands, her fingers curled nervously around his. She looked down at them for a moment, then back up into his eyes. "Are we... " Her voice dipped. "Are we actually serious about this?"

  Andy tilted his head, searching her face. "I asked to be your boyfriend, didn't I?"

  "Yes, but — " she blushed, biting her lower lip. "It's barely been two weeks."

  Andy gently squeezed her hands. "I know. It's fast. But I don't... I don't say things I don't mean, Summer." He smiled, a little crooked. "I'm serious about you."

  Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her lip. "But it's so fast. What if it's just infatuation? What if we're rushing?"

  "Maybe we are," he said honestly. "But I still meant it. I am serious about you."

  Her brows drew together, like she was trying to fit the pieces into a shape that made sense. "Even after so little time?"

  "I'm not saying I have a five-year plan with our names on it," Andy said, smiling a little. "But I know how I feel. I miss you when you're not in the room. I look forward to your texts. You make me laugh and feel seen in this ridiculous, impossible way."

  Summer blinked, her eyes shimmering. "You mean that?"

  "I do." He lifted her hands and kissed her knuckles, one by one. "We don't have to define the whole future right now. But I want more of this. I want you."

  Summer softened under his gaze, but she still looked uncertain. "What if I mess it up?"

  "Then we'll fix it," Andy said simply. "Together."

  She looked up at him, searching again — like she wanted to believe, but wasn't sure she should.

  He brought her hand to his lips, kissed her knuckles again. "I've never felt like this after a week. I feel good with you. Real. Like I'm more myself, not less."

  Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm serious about you too."

  Andy smiled, something bright and unguarded. "Then I guess we're officially ridiculous and serious and smitten."

  Summer nodded. "All of the above."

  He leaned down, brushing his nose against hers. "Good. Because I don't want anyone else."

  She breathed out a little sigh, warm and content, like she'd finally let go of something tight inside her. The way she melted against him, arms sliding around his waist, cheek tucked to his chest — it was better than fireworks.

  He wrapped his arms around her in turn, holding her as close as he could. "You're not running," he murmured against her hair.

  "Not running," she whispered back. "I'm scared. But I'm staying."

  Andy's throat tightened. "I'll be careful with you," he promised. "Even if I want to kiss you senseless every five minutes."

  She tilted her head back just enough to look up at him, smiling with that same softness in her eyes. "I'd let you."

  "Dangerous offer," he said, but leaned down to brush his lips over hers anyway — light, reverent.

  "I trust you," she whispered against his mouth.

  Andy closed his eyes. "Then I'll earn that every day."