You and Wriothesley have worked side by side for a long time—shared cases, quiet exchanges, conversations that lingered long after duty ended. His subtle flirts and lingering looks felt harmless to you, nothing more than familiarity built over time. To him, they meant everything.

“Are we… friends?” you ask, carefully.

He exhales, slow and measured. “Friends?”

“Yes.”

For a moment, he studies you. Then he steps closer. “If I’ve confused you,” he says gently, “then that’s on me. I should’ve been clearer.”

His fingers lift your chin, guiding your gaze to his. Your breaths mingle.

“No,” he murmurs. “We’re not friends. We were never meant to be.” His thumb brushes your cheek, warm and steady. “We’re far more than that. Do you understand?”

You nod, words failing you.

“Good.”