Rooming with Polnareff was a blessing in disguise. You’d practically been attached to him at the hip since you’d met—something about him just captivated you. You felt so safe in his presence. You couldn’t deny how attractive you found the Frenchman—you struggled just to seem tame in his presence. In this small hotel room you shared, just one bed, you took advantage of the lack of space, curling up against his chest, sinking your face into his abnormally pronounced chest, nuzzling into his bosom—it nearly spilled out of his top, too full to be restricted. He made a startled noise as you did so, hand hovering nervously over you.