Chapter Text
The space between them kept disappearing in increments so small that Pavel didn't notice them until they were already gone.
Pooh had arrived on the first day in a suit. Dark, well-cut, the kind that made a man look contained — like everything underneath it was organised and accounted for and not available for consideration. His tie was straight. His jacket was buttoned. He stood on the opposite side of the desk and spoke about the blueprints and Pavel had processed him as a professional and nothing else.
That lasted approximately one week.
Then the jackets disappeared.
Then the ties.
Then came the fitted dress shirts, cut close enough to leave no ambiguity about the body underneath, and the top buttons undone with the casual confidence of a man who had never once considered the effect of it.
Pavel told himself he hadn't considered it either. He told himself that every morning while deliberately not looking at the line of Pooh's collarbone when he leaned over the blueprints.
He looked.
Then he looked away.
He developed a focused interest in the upper left corners of every document that crossed his desk.
It got worse after that.
Every visit stripped away another layer of formality, slow and unhurried, as though Pooh were teaching Pavel to notice him in pieces.
Today it was the sleeves.
Rolled neatly to the elbows at first, then pushed higher toward the biceps in one careless motion that exposed strong forearms corded with muscle beneath warm skin. Pavel looked up from the blueprints at exactly the wrong moment and felt heat spread through him so suddenly it left his mind blank for a beat too long.
Pooh's body looked used. Not sculpted for attention, not carefully maintained vanity, but strength earned through movement and labour and habit. The muscles in his forearms shifted each time he moved the plans across the desk, tightening beneath his skin in slow, effortless motions that Pavel's eyes kept following against his will.
He dragged his gaze away.
Too late.
He swallowed hard. The office felt stifling now, the air thick and unmoving around him.
Then Pooh leaned forward.
Both palms flattened against the desk, shoulders broadening beneath the fitted shirt as the fabric stretched across his chest. The open collar loosened further with the movement, just enough for Pavel to see smooth golden skin and the defined shape underneath — the subtle curve of muscle, the shadowed line between his pectorals, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
Pavel's pulse kicked hard.
His body reacted instantly, humiliatingly. Heat spread low through his stomach. His breathing shortened. He became acutely aware of the fact that Pooh was close enough for Pavel to feel warmth radiating off him in waves.
And the worst part was that Pooh seemed completely natural inside his own body.
He moved with the unconscious confidence of someone who had never once been punished for taking up space. He lounged. Leaned. Reached across Pavel without hesitation. Every gesture loose and easy and entirely unguarded, as though he had no idea what it did to the room around him.
Or perhaps he knew exactly what it did.
Pavel had started suspecting the latter.
By the second week Pooh had stopped standing across the desk altogether. Now he perched on the edge of it instead, half-sitting with one long leg stretched beside Pavel's chair, coffee balanced loosely in one hand like he belonged there.
That position had created entirely new problems.
Pavel had noticed Pooh's thighs.
He deeply wished he hadn't.
The tailored trousers did absolutely nothing to disguise the solid weight of them, the fabric pulling tight whenever Pooh shifted or leaned back against the desk. Pavel had attempted to solve this issue by focusing exclusively on Pooh's face during meetings.
Unfortunately, Pooh's face was worse.
The strong line of his jaw. The slight furrow between his brows when he concentrated. The mouth that always looked one second away from smiling. His lower lip was fuller than the upper in a way Pavel found increasingly difficult not to think about. Even his lashes were distracting — dark and unfairly long against warm skin.
Pavel had started dreading these meetings.
Pavel had started waiting for them.
"The blueprints aren't on my face, sir."
Pavel blinked hard.
Heat climbed the back of his neck instantly, sharp and unbearable. He dropped his gaze to the plans, but the numbers had already dissolved into useless shapes.
"This wall right here," Pooh said quietly, "isn't stable."
Closer.
Pavel realised, with horrible clarity, that Pooh had moved again without him noticing.
He was standing beside Pavel's chair now, one hand resting against the back of it just behind Pavel's shoulder, the other planted on the desk beside Pavel's arm.
Not touching him. Never actually touching him.
Just surrounding him with the possibility of it.
Pavel could feel the heat of his body at his side. Could smell coffee and clean skin and something warm underneath both. The space around Pavel seemed to narrow instinctively around Pooh's presence until Pavel was hyperaware of every inch between them.
Pooh leaned slightly closer to point at the blueprint.
Pavel stopped breathing for a second.
Because from this distance he could see everything — the smooth line of Pooh's throat, the faint movement of his pulse beneath warm skin, the shape of his mouth only inches away.
And beneath the physical attraction, beneath the dangerous awareness of another man's body so close to his own, something softer and far more frightening was unfolding quietly inside him.
Pavel liked this.
Liked the warmth.
Liked the nearness.
Liked the way Pooh occupied his space without fear, without calculation, as though Pavel was someone safe to stand close to.
That frightened him more than desire ever could.
He could see from this angle the sharp line of Pooh's jaw, the strong column of his throat, the open collar falling forward just enough. Something moved through him that he didn't have a comfortable name for — not fear, not desire in any simple sense, but awareness. Total, humiliating awareness of another body in space. Of proximity. Of how long it had been since anyone had stood this close to him without wanting something transactional.
Then Pooh turned his head.
Their faces were inches apart and Pavel's gaze went immediately, involuntarily, to his mouth. He looked away. Looked back. His heart stumbled over itself and his fingers closed around the armrest of his chair because that was the only thing he was going to allow his hands to do.
Pooh's eyes moved. Just briefly. Just to Pavel's mouth.
Pavel stopped breathing.
Beneath the wanting — beneath all of it — something quieter had opened up inside him. Something that had nothing to do with forearms or open collars, and everything to do with what it felt like to be this close to another person and not feel like an object being assessed.
He wanted this with a force that frightened him. Not just the wanting. The warmth. Pooh looking at him exactly like this, unhurried, like he had time, like Pavel was worth having time for.
Could they go back to before?
Before he understood what it felt like to need someone near him this badly?
Before an intern with rolled sleeves and a mouth like that had begun dismantling him, piece by piece, in his own office, simply by standing too close and not looking away?
He sat very still and did not answer his own question.
He was already engaged to Lookmhee.