They slept for thirty minutes.
Not long enough to feel heavy. Just enough to soften the afternoon light and untangle the heat that had settled between them earlier.
When Camille opened her eyes, Gabriel was already awake, lying on his back, one arm folded beneath his head. He turned slightly when she shifted against him.
"You're leaving the bed again," he murmured.
"I'm hungry."
"That's disappointing."
She smiled and rolled away, reaching for her shorts. He remained where he was for a moment longer, then finally stood — still wrapped in her bathrobe, the belt knotted loosely at his waist.
He looked entirely too comfortable.
In the kitchen, they moved easily around each other. Garlic in oil. Tomatoes breaking down. He leaned against the counter at first, watching her with quiet focus before stepping behind her to steal a slow kiss at her shoulder.
"You're very affectionate today," she said.
"It's Saturday."
As though that excused indulgence.
Lunch was simple, shared at the small table. No rush. No screens. Just quiet conversation and the steady brush of knees beneath the wood.
After they finished, Gabriel looked down at himself — at the bathrobe, at the bare feet against her tiled floor.
"I should probably reclaim some dignity," he said.
She arched an eyebrow. "You look fine."
"I didn't bring a change of clothes."
It wasn't complaint. It was fact.
He walked back towards her bedroom, still in the robe, and paused in the doorway.
"Come with me," he said.
She glanced up from clearing plates. "Where?"
"My place."
The words were even. No tension. No dramatic weight.
"You're inviting me over because you're underdressed?" she teased.
"I'm inviting you because I want you there."
A brief silence.
Then she nodded once. "Alright."
Inside her bedroom, he slipped out of the bathrobe first. The movement was unhurried, casual — no performance. He pulled on the trousers and shirt he had worn the previous night, smoothing the fabric as if resetting himself.
Camille watched him for a second before turning to her wardrobe.
"If I'm coming," she said, "I'm not arriving unprepared."
He adjusted his cuffs. "How long are you planning to stay?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she selected a small overnight bag from the shelf and placed it on the bed.
Deliberate.
Not excessive.
Just intentional.
He noticed.
Her movements were calm — a change of clothes, something comfortable to sleep in, minimal toiletries. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that announced permanence.
Just a night.
He stepped closer, fingers brushing lightly against her waist as she zipped the bag.
"You're staying?" he asked quietly.
"For tonight."
A faint shift in his expression — not surprise. Approval.
"Good."
He leaned down and kissed her — slower this time. Measured. Sealed.
When she stepped out to collect her shoes, Gabriel remained behind in the bedroom for a moment.
He removed his watch.
Set it on her bedside table.
Then loosened his tie and folded it once before placing it beside the watch.
Precise.
Controlled.
He did not glance at them again.
When Camille returned, she didn't notice.
"Ready?" she asked.
He picked up her overnight bag before she could.
"Yes."
She locked the apartment door behind them.
Inside, in the quiet space they had just left, sunlight stretched slowly across the bed.
On the bedside table, his watch and neatly folded tie remained.
Unseen.
Left behind.
On purpose.