Claude adjusted the collar of his freshly pressed shirt, turning slightly toward the mirror beside Mio's hospital bed. His hair, still damp from the shower, glistened under the morning light filtering through the blinds. It was neatly styled now—his sharp features back in place, the faint stubble gone, the tired shadows beneath his eyes nearly vanished.
He caught Mio's reflection behind him, her expression unimpressed, her lips forming that tiny pout that he both feared and adored.
"Well?" he asked, smirking, "Do I finally look like your devastatingly handsome husband again?"
Mio blinked once, her head tilted, and then—without missing a beat—she sighed. "Hmm… not really."
Claude froze mid-smirk. "Excuse me?"
"Still not handsome enough," Mio said sweetly, turning away as if inspecting the ceiling was suddenly fascinating. "Don't make me regret falling for you, Claude."
