His lips trail down my neck, sending shivers all over.
"I love looking at you," he breathes, brushing the hair off my shoulders. "Will you let me look at you?"
My heart hammers, a wild thing seeking his. "Yes."
So he does. And I feel it. For a long...
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————————————— C A M I L A
Rome did not fall, it transformed, shedding its skin to reveal sinews of a new era. It was less an ending than a metamorphosis, one that speaks to the resilience and adaptability of human societies.
I pick up another paper, Noah's handwriting looping across the page like it's performing. He writes about history like it's still alive.
The Greeks did not simply leave myths and tragedies. They handed down a mirror, urging a deeper look, urging questioning, not just the world around us, but the very essence of what it means to be human.
The office is a small room, but it's his through and through. Dark wood desk, a single lamp casting a pool of light, and everywhere, books. Half-written essays, too.
I found three unopened toothbrushes under the sink. I stole one, brushed my teeth with his charcoal toothpaste, then used his spearmint mouthwash. I needed all of that to rinse away the panic.
Then I went to his closet and stole a pair of his sweatpants and a black tee shirt. More comfortable than my clothes, and they smell like him even though they're clean.
I pick up another one of Noah's papers, tucking stray curls behind my ear. I'm holding a piece of Noah's brain, practically, and it's...a lot. In the best way.
I lean against his desk, the edge biting slightly into my back. I wince, remembering how I fell. I don't want to look. I don't want to see another piece of me bruised.
The sinking of the Titanic was not merely a maritime disaster but a pivotal moment in economic history. Fragility of human endeavour. Illusion of invincibility with technological advancements. The immediate financial impact on shipping industries and insurance companies was pronounced, revealing the interconnectedness of global economies.
There's more, of course, but I can barely register it. The economies' part, though, I get that. I've studied that.
Here I am, wrapped up in Noah's shirt, smelling like him, thinking about economic impacts and societal shifts. I'm knee-deep in his mind. And it's a fascinating place.
I push off the desk, restless. Noah's got me thinking about the Titanic at—what time is it, anyway? Why isn't he back?
I wander back to the bedroom, over to the balcony window, peering out into the night, the city lights a distant, twinkling constellation.
I'm not expecting the knock, but when it comes, soft and hesitant, it doesn't scare me. I shuffle over, padding across the carpet, and swing the door open. Noah's there, temple pressed to the doorframe, sighing.
He straightens slightly as I open the door, his eyes immediately taking me in. His clothes on my body, my hair unfurled and wild around my shoulders.
"Hey, Rocky." A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "You look comfortable."
