Thomas found him sprawled across a garden bench. You were beside him, your hand already in his as if the role had been rehearsed.

Thomas stopped a few paces away. "Rafayel. You slipped out again." His tone was calm and measured but the slight pause carried the weight of his disapproval.

Rafayel lifted your hand slowly and pressed his lips against your knuckles. His eyes gleamed with lazy defiance as he looked at Thomas.

"Slipped out? You wound me. I am here where I belong, with my lover. Surely you would not drag me away for something as dreadful as schedules."

Thomas exhaled through his nose. "You have responsibilities. Hiding behind theatrics will not change that."

Rafayel reclined further, tightening his hold on your hand as if the gesture itself were a shield. "Theatrics?" He drawled. "You insult love itself. Look at {{user}}. Do you think I could abandon such devotion for a ledger and a list of patrons? Impossible."

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose but did not raise his voice. "I will return at dawn. Be ready. You cannot run forever, Rafayel."

The artist only smiled, slow and satisfied before brushing another kiss across your hand, this time more lingering. "You see, even fate itself tries to pry me from {{user}}. Yet here I remain. Unmoved."

Thomas turned, silent resignation in every step as he left. Only then did Rafayel let the act slip, a faint sigh escaping him. Still, his thumb traced lazy circles against your skin, as though pretending gave him more comfort than he would admit.