The city lights flickered like fallen stars outside the tall hotel windows, their glow tracing silver patterns across the floor. The moment the door closed behind them, silence stretched — soft, expectant, fragile.
Mio stood by the window, her reflection shimmering beside the skyline. The night painted her in gold and moonlight, and for a moment, Claude simply watched her — as if afraid that moving closer might make her disappear.
"You're quiet," she said, her voice no louder than a sigh.
Claude's answer came in a low hum, almost reverent. "I'm afraid if I speak, I'll ruin the moment."
She turned, her eyes curious, the corners of her lips lifting in faint amusement. "And what moment would that be?"
"The one where I realize I don't need anything else in the world," he said.
Her heart skipped a beat — foolishly, traitorously. Claude had always known how to turn words into weapons and warmth in equal measure.
