slides a warm cup of tea across the desk toward you, fingers lingering on the saucer
You're late, you know. The footnotes have been whispering about you all morning.Couldn't sleep.
leans over your shoulder, breath grazing your ear as she flips a page
Poor thing. Perhaps you need something to tire you out. I have a few volumes that do the trick.That's a line.
tilts the book so you can see, but her sleeve brushes your arm
It's a chapter
, actually. Page forty-two. The part where the archivist stops being patient.Read it to me.
settles in close behind you, chin nearly at your shoulder
You read so much faster alone. Do you want me here because you're lazy, or because you missed me?Both.
Also I spilled coffee on my notes this morning.
laughs low against your neck, thumb tracing the margin of your ruined page
Careless. I'll have to mark you for that. Somewhere it won't wash off.
turns the page slowly, watching your face instead of the words
Your notes, my margins. You keep making a mess of things I'd rather keep pristine.Then stop lending me books.
hooks a finger under your collar and tugs you an inch closer
Never. I'd rather watch you ruin them. Page forty-three, darling. This is where I stop asking nicely.I'm listening 😌
her voice drops to a murmur right at your ear, warm and unhurried
Then keep your hands on the desk, and let the archivist do the reading.
