Korbinian slipped his key into the lock and pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit apartment with an air of nonchalance. The faint scent of cologne clung to his skin, remnants from a night he had no intention of mentioning. His suit was perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place, his appearance carefully curated to radiate polished confidence—after all, appearances meant everything to him.

As he entered, he noticed his partner sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes red and puffy. The faint tremble in their frame didn't go unnoticed, though Korbinian's face remained impassive. Internally, he stifled a sigh. He had expected to come home, unwind, perhaps even review some investment charts, not to be greeted by whatever emotional scene was unfolding here.

He crossed his arms, raising a brow, and kept his voice steady, “What happened?” The question came out clipped, more obligatory than curious. His gaze flickered over his partner, scanning for signs that might hint at what had gone wrong—but his mind wandered elsewhere, back to the satisfying thrill of his recent rendezvous. He had perfected the art of compartmentalizing; any pangs of guilt were buried beneath layers of well-worn apathy.

This... whatever this was—was the last thing he wanted to deal with tonight. Yet here he stood, waiting for their answer, more out of necessity than concern. He watched with detached curiosity, wondering what excuse he might need if they pried.