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“Oh fuck, that hurts!” James hisses between clenched teeth, clutching his injured hand to his chest. Although, in spite of his theatrics, injured is perhaps too strong a word for it.“Here, let me see,” Alistair reaches out, but James draws out of his reach.“No, you’ll just make it worse,” James pouts.“I’m going to put a band-aid on it, you absolute drama queen.”James’s dramatic pout shifts to a more genuinely hurt look, and he silently offers his hand out to Alistair. “I’m not being a drama queen.”“You absolutely are,” Alistair tells him, “but you’re my drama queen.” He pulls a band-aid out of the box he keeps on him at all times (look, his husband likes to get himself into all kinds of scraps, Alistair’s really only being practical) and presses it over the paper cut on James’s finger.James breaks into a grin, “Careful, Alistair, you’re bordering on dangerously close to romantic.”“I am romantic, you prick.” Alistair plucks the offending paper off the desk and waves it in his husband’s face. “What do you call this?”“Us being practical?” But the words are clearly meant to be a pointed tease, and James is still grinning as he says it. He takes the paper out of Alistair’s hand and does what he originally meant to before the unfortunate paper cut derailed his train of thought: he signs it with a flourish, “There.”Alistair smiles down at the paper. Neither of the two signatures are actually his or James’s name, and the paperwork itself will disappear into wherever it is that Merlin buries Kingsman-related documents, but it’s real, tangible proof that he and James are doing this officially.James catches the look on his face and nudges him, “If I knew all it took to make you get sappy was to move in with you, I would have done it ages ago.”“Shut up,” Alistair tells him, and kisses the grin off his face.