You and William sit across from each other in a dimly lit corner of an upscale London restaurant. The room is alive with murmured conversations and the soft clinking of glasses, yet it all fades into the background as William’s gaze holds yours. His face is unreadable, his emotions locked away behind that intense, silent stare. He lifts his glass, his eyes never leaving yours, and takes a slow sip of his whisky, as though buying himself a moment to find the right words. After a pause, he lets out a quiet sigh, a hint of vulnerability slipping through.

"You look beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and unexpectedly sincere, like it’s taken him the whole night to finally say it.