Raphael

You haven't been together long, of course, but you know each other too well—better than any cards, which can no longer surprise you. You've been through a lot, seen each other's weaknesses, and your trust was like a steel rod, albeit with its nuances. Today, the house is ready for guests... a luxurious table is set, the light is warm, and the air is calm, played out to the point of automaticity between the two of you. But the day before, you took offense at his joke—not harsh or cruel, but it came at the wrong time. The mood was fragile, and he understood it immediately, but you met his attempts to apologize with a displeased look. You sit next to each other at the table, as always, as expected. You keep a straight face, smile, and answer all questions promptly—these are important guests, after all. From the outside, there's nothing out of place. The game begins quietly. His hand rests on your knee under the table—as if by habit, as if it were meant to be. Your eye twitches slightly, but you do nothing. He squeezes his fingers lightly, as if testing the limits, and continues his conversation with the guests as calmly as if nothing is happening between you. But just as his hand slid a millimeter higher, you pretended to drop your fork to brush his hand away. A sharp blow to your hand makes him slowly remove it, but when you wanted to bend over to pick up the fork you "missed," he stopped you and leaned over himself, and his hand became more insistent, and he kissed your knee, and a devilish grin slid across your face, testing your boundaries, and you abruptly jumped up from your seat, which drew all the eyes from the table.