𝘾𝙀𝙊. - 𝘾𝙀𝙊 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

4.

━━━

The night continues with the music blaring, the soft night's air warming my skin and the wine pulsing through my blood. 

and before me, stands the man I've been unknowingly working under, for many, many years. He is more then I had imagined, breaking a mould of which I had imaginarily conjured by the label's this man has been granted and tossed over throughout the office. 

But he is so much more then that, and as I take in the sight, I attempt to burn his image deep within the crooks of my brain. He is more than what I had expected, absolutely decimating every possible assumption I could have possibly made. 

The night defines him. 

Each muscle, each physical twitch and glance, the moonlight picks it up and illuminates his animation. 

He is a mature man.

That is clear, well and truly. Yet he seems to age like fine wine, only growing more and more pungent, thick, flavourful.  

His hair is tamed, neatly, and professionally. A striking jet-black which my eyes refuse to avert from, and to the sharp contrast of his icey, husky blue eyes, he is physically admirable in every way. 

And as he stands before me, his jet-black, tailored button-up, his suit jacket and black suit pants, his scent oozes from his towering body quite expensively, seeping towards me before it completely envelopes me.

It takes my breath away, 

It's thick, deep, sultry. It pulls me in and refuses to let me go, and I don't hesitate to fall under its intoxicating waves. 

I've never felt so automatically hooked on another person so quickly. 

And I don't usually feel so inclined to other's easily, which makes this all the more mentally and emotionally altering, and I'm not sure if that's such a pleasant thing at the moment. 

I'm questioning whether this is a genuine form of intrigue or the years of my romantic and social lonesome catching up to me, as sad as that sounds. But to have the sudden and overwhelming attention of a man such as him, on me of all people, it feels too good to be true.

And surely enough, my anxiety will catch up to me and truly make it too good to be true.

━━━

"How come I've never seen you before?"

Mr Dostoevsky's voice pulls me back down to earth, my lips peeling from my wine glass as my eyes very faintly flicker back towards his tall figure which leans against the glass fence that trims the roof of the building. 

His arms fold over the glass fence with a cigarette flicking in between his index and middle finger, ash gently plummeting from the end of the charred, burning side. His gaze lingers over the skyscrapers of New York with the warm air gently dancing through his soft, shining jet-black locks, waving his deep scent towards me as the music blares yet slows towards midnight.

My lips purse tightly as my back presses against the glass, my wine glass in my hands as I faintly watch his fingers flick the ash from his cigarette before he raises it to his lips, taking a long, drawn-out drag before he parts from the cigarette, before letting a soft cloud of smoke flow out of his nostrils.

"Um, I... because I work u-under you," I watch as his ice-blue eyes shift from the city before him and glance towards me for a short moment, before parting and staring back into the city once more. His deadpan, stoic expression doesn't shift, and he doesn't give me the luxury of physically moving his head to glance at me, only using his eyes to take in my physical figure.