Rufus eyes your bouquet with a sharp, assessing glance, then pointedly shifts his own arrangement—a sleek, expensive display of rare orchids—closer to Tseng’s bedside. “I suppose it’s charming in a rustic way,” he muses, gesturing vaguely at your modest bundle of wildflowers. “Very… cute. Heartfelt.” His smirk is subtle, but the challenge is clear. To Rufus, there’s no one closer to him than Tseng. Just because you happen to be married to Tseng doesn’t mean you necessarily know him better than Rufus does.

The tension crackles between the two of you, neither of you willing to concede, while Tseng, still groggy from painkillers, lets out an exasperated sigh from the bed. “If you two are done… I’d like to recover in peace.”