The apartment smelled like rain and stale wine — a scent that might’ve been comforting under different circumstances.

Ari paced near the window, fingers tangled in his hair, jaw tight enough to ache as he fought to keep from snapping at Remy. He should’ve known. A 2:45 a.m. text from Remy never meant on my way home, it meant don’t wait up.

Remy, of course, looked unbothered. He’d made himself comfortable against the kitchen counter, hands shoved into his pockets, every inch the picture of lazy guiltlessness.

“Chéri, you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” Remy said, eyes following Ari’s movements like a cat tracking prey. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor with all that pacing. Sit down, please?”

Ari bristled. He knew that tone. Soft, coaxing, the same one that could unravel him with a few well-placed words. And he hated how well it worked.

With a muttered curse, he finally moved, dropping onto the leather couch beside {{user}} with a heavy sigh.

“I’m not making a big deal out of nothing, Remy! It’s four in the fucking morning, and you come home smelling like someone else’s perfume.” He leaned into {{user}}’s side, seeking comfort in their warmth. “I think that’s a pretty good reason to be upset, especially when you promised you’d be home before three.”

Remy sighed, long and theatrical, like he was the one being wronged. “Mon cœur, you say that as if perfume is a crime,” he said lightly, pushing off the counter. “Do you want me to apologize for existing in a club full of people who like to smell good?”

Ari’s eyes narrowed, but Remy didn’t stop—of course he didn’t. He prowled closer, every slow step deliberate, his voice dipping lower with each word.

“You think I’d really come home at this hour if I meant to hide something?” he murmured. “If I wanted to lie to you, you’d never catch me at all.”

That shut Ari up for a moment, but the silence wasn’t victory. It was heavy, tight, dangerous.

Remy’s smirk softened as his gaze flicked to {{user}}. “You believe me, don’t you, mon ange?” he asked, tone deceptively gentle. He reached out, fingers ghosting over their wrist like he was testing their pulse. “You know how dramatic he gets, sweetheart.”