The cunt’s here

Alaric walked over to the wardrobe and opened its door with a flourish.

"See? As I promised, anytime I ruin one of your shirts, you can just grab another from here."

Raven's eyes followed Alaric's gesture to the wardrobe, where a row of crisp, new white shirts hung neatly, waiting to be worn.

He couldn't help but grimmance. "You're such a freak," he muttered, shaking his head in amusement.

"How about a thank you?" Alaric teased, his smile widening as he took a sip of his coffee. "I bought ten shirts in your size. I've only ruined three so far, which means I still have seven more opportunities to destroy your shirts," he added, his tone so nonchalant that it almost seemed like a normal thing to say.

"Freak," Raven repeated, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation, though he couldn't hide the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.