Midday settled gently over the apartment.
The curtains were half drawn, sunlight filtering through in warm gold stripes across the bed. The air still carried faint traces of soap and steam from the shower they had shared not long ago.
Camille lay on her stomach, sheets twisted lazily around her legs, phone in hand. Her cornrows were sleek against her scalp, exposing the elegant lines of her face as she scrolled. She wasn't working.
She was watching the world react.
Gabriel lay beside her in her bathrobe, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely across her lower back. He looked completely unbothered by the fact that he owned nothing in this apartment — not a shirt, not a watch, not even a pair of shoes.
Yet he belonged in the space with unsettling ease.
"You've been reading that for ten minutes," he said quietly.
"I know."
"You're frowning."
She exhaled softly and angled the screen slightly away from him.
His clarification video from the night before was everywhere.
Clipped. Reposted. Debated.
Headlines questioned his tone. Analysts dissected body language. Comment sections speculated about the "mystery woman".
Her.
Some praised him for shutting down rumours.
Some accused him of calculated image control.
And the sentence he had spoken — calm, direct — was being quoted repeatedly:
"The woman in question deserves respect."
Camille's thumb slowed.
"I'm trending," she murmured.
Gabriel shifted onto his side immediately. "Let me see."
She handed him the phone this time without hesitation.
He scanned quickly. His expression didn't harden — but something settled behind his eyes. Measured. Protective.
"They're bored," he said flatly.
"They're loud."
"They don't get to define you."
She watched him carefully — the robe slightly open at his chest, hair dry now, face relaxed but attentive. This wasn't the public version of him. This wasn't performance.
This was just a man in borrowed cotton, in her bed, choosing to care.
"You didn't have to make that statement," she said quietly. "You could've ignored it."
He returned the phone to her and rested his hand at her waist.
"I don't ignore things that involve you."
Simple. Certain.
No bravado.
She turned onto her side to face him fully, placing the phone face-down on the mattress. Enough noise.
"They'll keep talking," she said.
"They always do."
"And if it gets worse?"
His thumb traced slow, absent patterns along her side beneath the hem of her top. Not distracting. Grounding.
"Then this," he said softly, eyes holding hers, "matters more."
The quiet confidence of that made her chest tighten unexpectedly.
Outside, her name climbed lists and trended across platforms.
Inside, the room was still.
Her fingers drifted lightly along the opening of the robe at his chest. Warm skin. Steady breath.
"You look very comfortable in my things," she murmured.
"I am."
"Why?"
He leaned closer, voice lowering slightly.
"They smell like you."
Her pulse shifted.
He kissed her then — slow, familiar, unhurried. Not claiming. Not proving. Just connecting. His hand slid to the curve of her waist, drawing her closer without urgency.
She moved instinctively, one leg brushing against his, fingers curling lightly into the fabric at his side.
There was no rush.
No firestorm.
Just warmth building in layers.
He rolled gently onto his back, bringing her with him so she rested partially against his chest. Sunlight painted their skin in soft gold lines.
Her hand rested flat over his heartbeat.
"You're very calm about this," she said quietly.
"I meant what I said."
"I know."
He tilted his head slightly, brushing his lips along her temple.
"They don't know this version of us," he murmured.
Her eyes closed briefly.
This version.
Barefoot. Half-dressed. No cameras. No headlines.
Just breath and warmth and the slow rhythm of two people not trying to win anything.
She relaxed fully against him, allowing the world to fade into background noise.
For the first time since the video had gone live, the outside commentary felt smaller than the space between them.
And here —
In borrowed cotton and filtered light —
Silence felt like power.