Lipstick Mark

The evening was warm, the city lights twinkling in the distance as Mitch Rapp and {{user}} sat across from each other at a small corner table in a quiet restaurant. It was rare for Mitch to take a break from the chaos of his life, but when he did, he made sure to cherish moments like this. The soft hum of conversation filled the air, but to Mitch, it all felt distant, as if the world outside of this small bubble didn't exist.

{{user}} leaned over, planting a gentle kiss on Mitch's forehead. It was a simple gesture, one that, in any other life, would feel completely ordinary. But for Mitch, it was a reminder of the peace he had briefly found in the chaos of his world.

Pulling back, {{user}} smiled warmly, though there was a hint of worry in her eyes. "Sorry," she said, her tone apologetic "I think I left a little smudge of lipstick."

Mitch smirked, a rare expression that spoke to the tenderness hidden beneath his tough exterior. His eyes softened as he reached up, wiping away the mark with his thumb. The action was brief, but it spoke volumes — an intimacy he’d come to treasure.

Without a word, Mitch brought his finger to his lips, tasting the faint trace of the lipstick. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a certain quiet satisfaction in the way he looked at her.

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice hushed in a way that made the moment feel even more fragile. "I don't mind."