Chapter Text
The workshop was quiet except for the soft scratch of Olruggio’s pen against parchment and the occasional hiss from the enchanted kettle hanging over the low blue flame. Midnight had settled deep into the windows, turning the glass black and reflective.
You should have gone to bed an hour ago.
Instead, you sat across from him pretending to read while secretly watching the way candlelight caught on the silver strands of his hair.
“You’ve been staring at me for the last five minutes,” he said without looking up.
Your face warmed instantly. “I have not.”
“Hm.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Then either the book is very interesting, or you’re very bad at hiding things.”
You closed the book with more force than necessary. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, finally lifting his gaze to you, “you’re still here.”
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
Olruggio leaned back in his chair, studying you with that unreadable calm he wore so effortlessly. Most people found him intimidating. You mostly found him distracting.
Especially tonight.
“You should sleep,” he said softly. “You’re exhausted.”
“So are you.”
“I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
That earned you a pause.
The teasing edge in his expression faded just enough for something gentler to appear beneath it. Dangerous territory. You knew it the moment he stood and crossed the room toward you.
“You worry too much,” he said.
“You don’t let anyone else do it.”
A quiet beat passed between you.
Then his hand lifted, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face with infuriating carelessness. The touch barely lasted a second, but it sent heat rushing straight through you.
Olruggio noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His eyes darkened slightly behind half-lidded lashes. “Ah,” he said, voice lower now. “So that’s what this is.”
You swallowed hard. “And what is this?”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that you could smell smoke, ink, and the faint scent of rain clinging to his coat.
“Trouble,” he answered.
Your breath caught when his hand settled against the arm of your chair, trapping you gently between him and the desk. Not forcing. Never forcing. Just waiting to see if you’d pull away.
You didn’t.
The corner of his mouth curved slowly. “Dangerous choice.”
“You’re one to talk.”
A soft laugh escaped him — quiet, surprised, genuine.
Then his thumb tilted your chin upward.
The kiss started careful, almost restrained, like he was giving you one last chance to reconsider. But the moment you kissed him back, the restraint cracked.
His other hand slid to your waist, drawing you closer until the edge of the desk pressed against your hips. Warmth flooded through you at the low sound he made against your mouth — pleased, breathless, barely controlled.
“You have no idea,” he murmured between kisses, “how difficult you make concentrating.”
You smiled against his lips. “Good.”
That earned you another kiss — slower this time, deliberate enough to make your heart stutter.
Somewhere behind you, the enchanted kettle screamed as it boiled over.
Neither of you moved to stop it.