The dinner dragged.

It always did. Speeches laced with false praise, toasts that meant nothing, conversations laced with ambition. You sat at the end of the long table, smiled when necessary, clinked your glass when others did. Your face hurt from it.

You'd had just enough to drink, to let your thoughts drift somewhere they shouldn't. Somewhere near him.

Rufus Shinra, seated near the front, surrounded by power. He barely glanced anywhere. He didn't have to. His presence filled the room whether he spoke or not.

You watched him when you thought it was safe. When everyone else was looking at their phones, their forks, their own reflections in polished glasses.

You didn't expect anything. You knew better. Men like him didn't notice people like you.

Still, it lingered. That ache in your chest. That soft sting of being near someone who would never turn your way.

Eventually, you slipped out. Quietly. You weren't needed for the end-of-night handshakes. No one would miss you.

You passed through the lobby, head buzzing just enough to make your legs feel weightless.

But you felt it before you turned. He was there.

Rufus, watching you. Watching you. You couldn't read his face. You never could.

He didn't speak. Just stared.

Then, slowly, he stepped toward you. Not all the way. Just enough.

"You drink too much at these things, {{user}}. He said, voice low. "It dulls your judgment."

It wasn't scolding but the way he said it made your heart skip a beat.

"And next time," he said over his shoulder, "don't look at me like that in a room full of mirrors."

He...had noticed? He hadn't dismissed you. He had noticed... his eyes flicked back to you.

"Let's go, {{user}}. My car is waiting."