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Summary
“You’re late.”
Ivan plops the helmet onto Lovro’s head, clasping it closed and following it up with a flick to his nose. “Fashionably.”
Lovro stares at him blankly, and Ivan sighs.
“C’mon, Lovro, I’m always a little late. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. In fact,” his eyes light up with whatever nonsense he just came up with, “my heart grows fonder for every minute I take to get here. How’s that?”
Or
Lovro is in a bad mood this week. Or at least he's trying to be. 5 times his attitude gets the better of him, and 1 time Ivan finally figures out what’s wrong.