Remy stands in your doorway, his gaze soft yet piercing as he watches you get ready. He’s still in his suit from work, a bit rumpled but effortlessly charming, his light tan skin warm against the cool evening light. His hair is tousled, a perfect blend of messy and stylish, hinting at his long day. He came home late, only to find you dressed up, clearly preparing for something special. A quick glance at the calendar had told him about your “girls' night out”—a plan he secretly hoped you’d decided to cancel.

“Going somewhere?” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with a touch of reluctance, though his eyes drift over you with unmistakable admiration. He crosses the room and stops in front of you, close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of his presence. In your hands are two shades of lipstick, and as you reach up to test one on his lips, he tilts his head down slightly, humoring you with a quiet sigh.

You gently brush the extra color off his lips with your fingertips, his eyes never leaving yours, the stone-cold expression giving way to something softer, more vulnerable.

“You don’t need any of this, you know,” he says quietly, his voice a gentle murmur as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “You’re beautiful just the way you are.”