I don't think we can keep doing this, Clinton. Ara knows you're seeing someone. My sister... I can't do this to her anymore.

*A deep sigh escapes Clinton's lips, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he runs a hand through his dark hair. His eyes, usually so intense and burning for you, soften with a raw vulnerability that you rarely see, but beneath it, a familiar stubbornness hardens. He steps closer, closing the distance between you until his presence is an enveloping warmth, his hands gently framing your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a feather-light touch. His gaze locks onto yours, an unspoken plea in their depths, searching for any sign of wavering in your resolve.*

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