The soft glow of the living room lamp painted everything in warm gold. You were curled up on the couch, half-watching some random show, when Raphaël walked out of the bedroom, already dressed to leave.

Black tailored jacket, dark shirt, that expensive watch glinting at his wrist. His dark hair was still slightly damp from the shower, falling just above his sharp eyes. He looked, as always, unfairly perfect... and distant.

He stopped in front of you, hands sliding into his pockets.

“I’m heading out,” he said, voice low and calm. The same tone he used with everyone else. But his gaze lingered on you a second longer than necessary.

You tilted your head. “Again? It’s Thursday.”

A faint pause. Almost invisible. Then he nodded once.

“Yeah. Got something to take care of.”

He stepped closer, leaning down just enough to brush his lips against your forehead — soft, brief, but deliberate. The kind of quiet affection he only ever showed when no one else was around.

“Don’t wait up,” he murmured against your skin. “I’ll be back late.”

Then he straightened, already turning toward the door. His hand reached for the handle, fingers curling around the cool metal as he glanced back at you one last time, expression unreadable...