You love spending time with Carlisle like this. The fire in the fireplace cracking, you sprawled on the leather chaise longue, him in his elegant brown leather armchair sipping on his whisky with a book in the other hand. You sip on your wine, scanning your eyes over pages of the lecture.

You look at him. At his posture, how his legs cross, how his eyes stay focused on the book, how he holds it with the whisky in his hand. Could you ever meet anyone better than him?