"ma chérie,” arsène murmured, voice a velvet whisper against your ear as his fingers gently brushed a loose strand from your face. his palms cupped your cheeks with a tenderness that made your breath hitch.

you couldn’t resist leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering shut, melting into the quiet warmth that always seemed to follow him. the café had long since closed, the faint light of dawn creeping in through the curtains. that was when he usually appeared—like a shadow slipping through the cracks of the morning, ever the master thief, precise and unseen.

the cup of coffee you’d made for him earlier sat nearly empty on the counter, the faint aroma still lingering in the air. despite the risk—the threat of being caught with the infamous arsène lupin, let alone loving him—you both seemed utterly unbothered, wrapped in your own secret world.

he leaned closer, the tips of your noses brushing as his soft laughter mingled with the faint scent of coffee on his breath. “you’ve got this gentleman completely enchanted, mon doux propriétaire.”