𝘾𝙀𝙊. - 𝘾𝙀𝙊 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

17.

━━━

London.

My heart jumps with joy, to truly comprehend how far I am from home, within the same space as Mr Dostoevsky, so close, yet so far. And even now, the skin across my neck truly adorns the pearls he purchased for me those weeks ago. 

I wear it with pride, I wear it with my skin seething and my heart pulsating. 

I let my fingertips trail over each rounded pearl, counting them over, and over, and over again, like a meditative mantra of gratitude and honour.

By the time we had landed, I had already experienced my round of jet lag, my body slammed with a wave of drowsiness and body-clock confusion. 

Mr Dostoevsky had noticed this, as clear as day, and assured me multiple times that the hotel would accommodate to any needs I had.

From the switched time zones as we arrived in London, it was around 6 pm, the evening already washing over the United Kingdom's sky. A part of me wanted to take as much of London in as I could, but my mind was too exhausted to comprehend a single thing happening. 

I knew the next day would support my adjustment with the time and my body's regulation, so as we exited the jet and had our luggage packed away, my body was more than glad to take a comfortable seat within the driver's car and let the broad, suited man drive us off. 

My mind ran overthought, overrun, and infatuated. So many layered emotions, to weigh upon my shoulders with no regard for mercy. But with all the mental strength I can possibly harbour, I carry such emotions close to my chest. 

The leather seating beneath my body warms by my body heat, Stanislavs index and thumb finger carefully clamped over a cigar whilst his side of the backseat window is kept open. The distant sunset washes hues of vibrant orange and yellows across the sky, its canvas dotted by thick, pungent rays of clouds lined across its skin. 

My head rests against the car door, my hand providing a minimal amount of comfort as my gaze struggles to focus. Each building which passes us towers us with their glistening lights, slowly switching on as the sun lowers for the night, my tired gaze slowly flicking over every passing sight. 

"That cannot be comfortable," The deep husk of his voice, the lingering scent of his cigar gently wafting through the car, passing by the cold breeze seeping through the windows sends a buzz across the surface of my body. My lids slowly flutter open, a faint yawn escaping my lips as my neck slowly turns to face him. 

I know that he is insinuating to the position I have been resting in, yet as I notice him switch his cigar from one hand to the other, his closest hand to me reaches, unclicking my seat belt with his body leaning, a slide against my waist as he forcibly slides my figure to his side of the back seat. 

My mind delays his actions, the only form of reaction verbally escaping me is the very quiet 'huh' seeping from my lips, my body almost instantly washing over by the heavy heat and sensory-drowning cologne he oozes with. My vision blurs, the feeling of his hand sliding and re-clicking the middle seat seatbelt over my waist plays upon my mind. 

With the non-spoken permission to rest against his body, my face lightly presses against his suited chest, his free hand wrapped over my shoulders to provide physical support. 

He smells nice.

He feels nice. 

Comforting, secure. Warm. 

Everything blurs into an exhausted fuzz, my morals, professional outlook and formal bond with him completely thrown out the window. 

Just this once.