Chapter 83: Chapter 83: Outing (2)

The car slowed without warning.

Not an abrupt stop, Gregoris never did anything abruptly, but a smooth deceleration that bled speed until the engine fell into a quiet, controlled purr. Before Rafael could even unfasten his seatbelt or formulate a complaint, Gregoris had already stepped out, closing his own door with a soft, decisive click.

Rafael watched him circle the front of the car, faintly suspicious.

He opened Rafael’s door, like this was a gesture that mattered, and he intended it to be seen as such.

Then he held out his hand.

Rafael stared at it.

Then at him.

Then, beyond him.

The view was… absurd.

The villa they had left was impressive. This was something else entirely. The road had ended at a private overlook carved into the cliffside, stone terraces descending in clean lines toward the sea. Below, the water spread out in impossible shades of blue, sunlight shattering across it like glass. Farther along the coast, white structures clung to rock, connected by winding paths and discreet security lines that spoke of money, planning, and an absolute refusal to be disturbed.

There were tables set. Shade canopies. Fresh flowers that absolutely did not grow here naturally. The faint scent of citrus and something expensive carried on the breeze.

It was… excessive.

Rafael looked at Gregoris again. The man stood there, hand extended, unbothered, unashamed, and perfectly at ease in front of something that probably cost more than several minor estates.

“…You’re going to make me start calculating,” Rafael warned.

Gregoris’s mouth curved. “You already are.”

“This is,” Rafael gestured helplessly at the entire horizon, “strategic insanity.”

“It is intentional,” Gregoris replied. “Come here.”

Rafael hesitated, then placed his hand in Gregoris’s. He let himself be helped out of the car, the sea air wrapping around him, the sun bright and unapologetic.

He took another look.

“…This could fund a small reform,” he muttered. “Or two. Possibly three if negotiated properly.”

Gregoris closed the door behind him and didn’t let go of his hand.

“I am aware,” he said.

Rafael shot him a look. “Then why?”

“Because,” Gregoris answered calmly, “I want the best for my mate.”

Rafael blinked, then looked past him again, taking in the terraces, the sea, the impossible quiet, all of it arranged with the same ruthless precision Gregoris applied to battlefields and intelligence networks.

“…You are going to ruin my ability to be reasonable,” he said.

Gregoris’s eyes warmed, just slightly, silver softening at the edges.

“That is my objective.”

Rafael let out a quiet, incredulous laugh. “I am a man who itemizes expenses. You’re trying to drown me in aesthetics.”

“I am trying,” Gregoris replied, “to teach you that not everything has to be justified by usefulness or sacrifice.”

He gestured toward the view, the prepared space, the sunlight, and the sea.

“This,” he said simply, “is allowed to exist because you exist.”

Rafael hummed, eyes still on the horizon. “Then you can sponsor my skincare routine.”

Gregoris didn’t even blink.

“Already done,” he replied.

Rafael turned slowly. “…What.”

“I had a physician and a cosmetic alchemist argue for an hour about what would be optimal for your skin type, your ether exposure, and your stress levels,” Gregoris said calmly. “They reached a compromise. The products will arrive tomorrow.”

Rafael stared at him. “You commissioned a medical debate for moisturizer.”

“I commissioned accuracy,” Gregoris corrected. “Dry air, salt, and sun require adjustments.”

“That is unhinged.”

“That is thorough.”

Rafael made a sound somewhere between laughter and surrender. “You realize normal people don’t prepare coastal deployment plans for their mate’s pores.”

“I am not normal people,” Gregoris said, entirely unbothered. “And you are not a normal variable.”

He gestured again toward the terrace. At the long table set in the shade. At the slow movement of staff in the distance, discreet and efficient, setting out plates and glasses and something that smelled faintly of citrus and herbs.

“Lunch,” he said. “After that, the water. Then shade. Then nothing that requires decisions.”

Rafael eyed the spread. “You planned a schedule.”

“I planned options,” Gregoris replied. “There is a difference.”

“And if I want to do absolutely nothing?”

Gregoris’s mouth curved. “Then we will do it in a very expensive location.”

Rafael shook his head, but there was no real protest in it. Just a quiet, incredulous fondness he hadn’t yet learned how to disguise.

“…You’re impossible.”

“Yes,” Gregoris agreed. “But I am consistent.”

He released Rafael’s hand only to guide him forward with a light touch at his back, directing him.

“Come,” he said. “Before you start calculating depreciation on the view.”

—

Lunch turned out to be exactly as excessive as the setting suggested and somehow still restrained in Gregoris’s particular way.

Not a parade of dishes meant to impress through quantity, but a sequence chosen with attention at details. Fresh bread still warm in the center, olive oil that tasted like sun and stone, fish caught that morning and prepared simply, and herbs cut minutes before they were placed on the table. Fruit chilled just enough to be refreshing, not numbing. Water infused with citrus and something faintly floral that Rafael couldn’t name but immediately approved of.

Gregoris ate like a man who treated food as fuel first and pleasure second, but he didn’t rush. He watched Rafael more than his plate, tracking when he slowed, when he reached for something again, and when the tension finally eased from his shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Rafael noted, mid-bite.

“I’m confirming,” Gregoris replied.

“Confirming what?”

“That you’re actually relaxing.”

Rafael scoffed. “This is not relaxing. This is… strategically pleasant.”

Gregoris’s mouth curved. “Progress.”

Afterward, they moved down the stone steps carved into the cliff, the air growing warmer, the sound of waves louder. The sea stretched endlessly, blue and glittering, the kind of horizon that made politics feel very far away.

Gregoris settled on one of the shaded loungers, a thick file already in his hands. The title alone made Rafael’s soul wilt.

Strategic Coastal Defense and Long-Range Surveillance Optimization: Southern Sector.

“You brought work,” Rafael accused.

“I brought reading,” Gregoris corrected. “There is a difference.”

“That is not a difference anyone but you would recognize.”

Gregoris turned a page. “It’s soothing.”

Rafael stared at him. “You find threat distribution maps soothing.”

“Yes.”

Rafael shook his head in disbelief, already shedding his shoes. The sand was warm under his feet, the breeze gentle, and the water truly inviting.

“I am not going to sit here while you romance infrastructure,” he declared.

Gregoris didn’t look up. “You are welcome to the sea.”

“I am not asking for permission.”

“I am not giving it,” Gregoris replied calmly. “I am acknowledging inevitability.”

Rafael waded in, the cool water stealing his breath for a second before settling into something perfect. He dove once, surfaced, pushed wet hair back from his face, and looked toward the shore.

Gregoris was exactly where he’d left him. One arm resting along the chair, the other holding the file, eyes scanning lines of text with focus, utterly unbothered by the fact that his mate was currently in the ocean.

“Are you really going to read about supply lines while I am right here?” Rafael called.

Gregoris glanced up at last, sunlight catching in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “And then I will look at you. In that order.”

Rafael laughed, the sound carrying over the water, and swam farther out before floating on his back, letting the sun warm his face and the waves rock him gently.

It was absurd. An omega in the sea. An executioner in the shade, reading about fortifications.

The world, for once, not demanding anything of either of them.

Just an oddly, unexpectedly pleasant day.

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