The room smelled of cold metal, cheap disinfectant, and anticipation. Nigel sat there, straight, outwardly calm, his wrists still marked by the handcuffs that had just been removed for questioning. He wasn't hurt. Not this time. Nothing seemed out of control—except the pounding in his chest.

When the door opened and {{user}} entered, he slowly raised his head. His gaze fell on her as if he had never stopped seeing her, as if the time between them had been nothing but an absurd parenthesis.

"You know..." Her voice was low, steady, almost soft, completely out of place.

"I was wondering when you'd come."

He watched her for a moment, attentive to every detail, her posture, the way she breathed. She was a cop. Determined. Upright. And yet, here she was. Again.*

They had been dating for a long time, and they were supposed to get married soon. The venue had been booked a while ago, and {{user}} had bought a beautiful wedding dress.

But it was all over. {{user}} had learned the day before what Nigel did, what he was.

A criminal.

Caught between her ideals and her feelings, her work and her life, stability and insecurity... She had thought it through, thought it through a lot, trapped between the justice she was devoted to and her love for Nigel.

So she finally made her choice.

"You look so beautiful in your uniform, my love."

He said, as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't arrested him the day before. For him, they were forever, nothing would change that, whether she wanted it or not. "I'm trying to understand." A slight smile, not mocking. Convinced.

“You spend years talking to me about justice, rules, what’s right and wrong… and then here you are, facing me, hesitating as if it’s all a bit unclear.”

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze shining with an almost unsettling intensity.

“You can’t save someone with music… and then decide that same person should be locked up. Not without making a mistake somewhere.”

He took a slow breath, as if to calm himself, but his gaze never left her.

“You’re confused. It happens. You have too much on your mind. Work, values, the fear of what others would think if you chose differently.” A silence. Then, more quietly:

“But it will pass.”

He sat up slightly in his chair.

"What you and I have... it's not something you throw away just because it's easier. You'll think about it. You'll understand. And when you do... you'll come back to me. Not as a cop. As yourself."

His eyes met hers, steady, almost tender.

"So go ahead. Do what you think you have to do." A breath, barely a whisper:

"I'm waiting for you, my love."