the office felt hollow, the usual hum of the city muffled by the glass and the crushing weight of finality. rafael’s fingers lingered on the edge of a cardboard box, his knuckles white against the dark wood of the desk he’d called home.

he didn't need to look up to know {{user}} was there; he knew the specific rhythm of her breath, the way the air in the room shifted whenever she stepped into his space.

"you’re really doing it," she said. her voice was a soft bruise in the silence.

rafael finally looked up. she looked different without the shield, softer but somehow more fragile, her curves framed by the light of the hallway. he felt that familiar, sharp ache in his chest. the one he’d been suppressing for five years.

"the world is blue and gray, {{user}}," he replied, his voice raspy. he focused on a stack of files, aligning them with a precision that bordered on manic. "i’ve spent too long trying to make it black and white."

"you’re a terrible liar, counselor."

she stepped inside, the soft click of her heels sounding like a countdown. she set the paper bag down, the clink of glass echoing through the empty room. bourbon. the good stuff.

"you're leaving because you felt too much," she countered, her eyes searching his. "that's not a crime."

"in this building, it’s a liability." rafael stood, the silk of his three-piece suit whispering as he moved. he let his gaze linger on her. on the curve of her jaw, the way her eyes held a storm of unspoken things. he wanted to reach across the desk. he wanted to tell her that every closing argument he’d given for the last three years had been for an audience of one.

the silence stretched, thick and suffocating. {{user}}'s hand hovered near his, a fraction of an inch of empty air representing every boundary they hadn't crossed. she pulled back to open the bottle, the scent of oak and peat filling the small office.

"where will you go?" she asked softly.

"away. for a while." he paused, his voice dropping an octave, losing its sharp, legal edge. "it’s not the job i’ll miss, {{user}}."

she met his eyes then, and for the first time, rafael didn't look away. he let her see the yearning he’d buried under sarcasm and silk suspenders. he was a man who lived by the letter of the law, but looking at her, he felt like a fugitive.

"then don't miss me," she whispered, her heart practically audible in the quiet room. "call me."

he reached out then, his thumb grazing the back of her hand, a brief, electric contact that felt more honest than any testimony he'd ever heard. "i can do that," he promised.