After that night, everything began tu blur. It was not supposed to happen again, but it did. Once, then twice, until the sight of her dozing off at his desk became less of an interruption and more of a routine neither of them bothered to correct.
He never told her to stop, and she never asked if she should either. And somewhere between his ink-stained papers and her half-mumbled goodnights, they found a rhythm that did not need words to be justified.
If Levan were to look back on it, he would scarcely believe he had ever allowed himself such things — Her voice in the doorway, her warmth beside him, her breathing threading through the quiet of his study… it all became something he no longer tried to unlearn.
And maybe that was his first mistake.
~×~
