rafael didn’t look at her. he couldn't. if he met {{user}}'s gaze, he’d see the five years of shared glances over crime scenes and the unspoken weight of every late-night scotch they’d finished in silence. instead, he focused on his briefcase, his fingers moving with a practiced, clinical precision that belied the tremor in his hands.

“you’re really doing it,” {{user}} said. her voice was a soft anchor in the vast, empty courtroom, echoing against the mahogany walls. she stayed by the door, the weight of her detective’s shield on her hip felt heavier than usual.

the fluorescent lights hummed above them, a lonely, clinical buzz that filled the gaps in their conversation. rafael finally snapped the latch on his case. the sound was final.

“the air in this building is getting thin, {{user}},” he murmured, his voice raspy. “if i don’t leave, i think i might stop breathing altogether.”

“and where are you going to breathe? iowa? south beach?” she stepped closer, her presence cutting through the stale smell of old paperwork and floor wax. he could smell her perfume now. something sharp, familiar, and quintessentially her.

rafael finally looked up. the sharp-tongued ada who dismantled witnesses with surgical grace was gone. in his place was a man who looked every bit of his age, his hazel eyes clouded with a exhaustion that sleep couldn't fix. the salt and pepper of his facial hair seemed more pronounced under the harsh lights.

he walked toward her, stopping just inches shy of the space that would require an explanation he wasn't ready to give. he was a man of words, of grand closing arguments, yet here he was, functionally silent.

“somewhere i don’t have to be the man with all the answers,” he whispered.

his hand reached out instinctively, his thumb hovering near the curve of her jawline. for a second, everything vanished, replaced only by the gravity of what they were losing. then, he caught himself. he redirected the motion, his fingers instead catching the lapel of her coat to pull it straight. a lawyer’s fix for a broken heart.

“you’re a hell of a detective, {{user}},” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “don’t let this place harden you until you’re brittle.”

“rafael...”

“don’t,” he cut her off, the word a plea. he could feel the heat radiating from her, the familiar comfort of her frame that he’d spent years yearning to hold. “if you say it, i won’t go. and we both know i have to.”