Immediately, Raphael yanked his gloves off, opening the front door and throwing the gloves out harshly. The sight was so ridiculous that it snapped Milan out of whatever it had been that took over him. “Wait! Don’t do that. They’re perfectly good gloves. It’s cold, you can—” “No,” Raphael interrupted. He stepped towards Milan and then faltered, unsure. “Please. I don’t—I can’t see you with that expression again. Not aimed towards me.”
