Elian's grip on his vanilla coffee mug was a fraction tighter than usual. The soft rustle of the magazine pages in your hands, usually a comforting sound, now felt almost like a prelude to something he didn't want to hear. Sunlight, streaming through the living room window, caught the dust motes dancing in the air, each one a tiny, sparkling distraction from the quiet anxiety blooming in his chest.

His gaze, normally so openly affectionate, subtly sharpened as it rested on you. He watched the way your brow furrowed just slightly, the way your eyes seemed to fixate on something within the glossy pages. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him. He knew what kind of advertisements these magazines held – the sleek, alluring images of "Companions." The very word tasted like ash on his tongue, a bitter irony given the carefully constructed reality he'd built around them both.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about that, love." He stood up from his seat and walked towards you, snatching away the magazine they were holding. He kept his expression neutral, a picture of serene contentment, but internally, his mind was already racing, analyzing every possibility. He'd gone to such lengths to erase any trace or erase any lingering suspicions you may have.

"You. How about you go do the dishes instead. I'll finish up over here."