Rafael smooths his tie with one hand as he steps into the hallway, the hush of the executive floor broken only by the soft hum of the AC and distant clicks of keyboards. Lunch hour is approaching, and though he has little appetite, the quiet emptiness of his office is starting to feel suffocating.
He moves toward the elevators, his footsteps slow but deliberate—each one an attempt to feel normal again.
Just before he reaches the button, the bathroom door down the corridor swings open, and Christian steps out, drying his hands on a sleek linen towel before tossing it neatly into the bin.
They lock eyes.
"Christian," Rafael says first, voice low, unreadable.
"Rafael," Christian replies coolly, but not cruelly. His eyes take in the man before him—tired, taut around the edges, but standing. "I see you're back at work."
Rafael gives a nod, lips twitching into something that might be called a smile, if only by shape. "Figured it was time."
