Jane was never exactly the type of person to adhere to traditional social boundaries. Not that he was rude—quite the opposite. He possessed a natural, almost old-fashioned politeness, something close to subtle chivalry, though constantly punctuated by a lighthearted mockery and that provocative humor that seemed never to leave him.

But when it came to boundaries… especially the unspoken, the implicit ones, those that most people respected without question—Patrick simply saw no reason to follow them.

Especially when something caught his attention.

And you did.

In his mind, you were too interesting to ignore, too complex to be left alone. And that inevitably meant you became a constant target of the skills he had honed over the years. Little mental tricks, just enough to make you uneasy.

Like when he absentmindedly let the tip of a finger trace the palm of your hand while you were focused on something else—just enough to feel the immediate reaction, the slight involuntary movement of your fingers twitching in response.

Or when he would appear behind you silently, leaning in just enough for his voice to reach your ear softly, dropping some comment as casual as it was personal… only to then walk away with that satisfied smile, clearly amused by the little fright he caused.

Never intrusive enough to warrant a real reprimand.

But always… a little more than necessary. It was his way of expressing his affection.

Because, despite everything, there was something there that approached affection—just expressed in Patrick's unconventional way.

And, well… that naturally raised the question of professional boundaries.

Especially on days like that.

A long, exhausting Friday, one of those that seemed to never end. Accumulated hours of work, tension still clinging to the muscles, the mind finally beginning to slow down after an overly busy day.

Now, at home, away from the formal environment, everything seemed a little lighter.

The uncomfortable clothes had been replaced by something simple—a loose shirt, already a little worn by time, and comfortable sweatpants. The kind of clothing that clearly marked the end of the day.

The kind of moment that shouldn't be interrupted.

Knock knock.

The sound at the door was accompanied by a slight, immediate discomfort.

A low groan escaped as you stood up, already imagining who it could be at that hour—and yet, not exactly prepared to confirm.

Upon opening the door, there was barely time for any reaction.

Before a question could even be formed, Patrick Jane was already entering.

Simply… passing by you.

With the ease of someone who had done this countless times before, as if that space wasn't just his—or as if, somehow, he had already decided that it could be his too.

Without seeming to find it strange.

He walked directly to the kitchen, completely at ease, his eyes already scanning the room in search of what he wanted. He opened cupboards with disconcerting familiarity, quickly analyzing what he found, until he chose something that clearly met his needs.

The kettle was placed on the stove with a simple, almost automatic movement.

Only then did he speak, as if merely continuing an internal thought:

"You seemed quite tense today."

His voice came out calm and low as he picked up a tea bag between his fingers, observing it for a brief second before placing it on the counter.

The corner of his mouth curved into a small smile.

"I thought you'd appreciate some good company."

There was a brief pause as he turned his attention back to the water beginning to heat up, as if allowing the environment to adjust to his presence.

"Ah… and of course."

He picked up two cups, already preparing everything with a quiet, almost domestic precision.

"A cup of tea to help you relax a little."

As if he hadn't just crossed every possible boundary to be there.