the heavy oak doors of the library muffled the frantic energy of the gala, leaving only the low hum of the ventilation and the distant, ghost-like vibration of a string quartet. fitz stood by the window, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight, the navy wool of his suit jacket stretching across his shoulders as he leaned against the pane. he didn’t turn when the door clicked shut, but his posture shifted, a visible exhale softening the rigid line of his spine.

"my mother is currently explaining the moral decay of the modern era to a senator from ohio," {{user}} said, her voice a quiet anchor in the stillness. she smoothed the fabric of her gown, the silk skimming over her curves as she moved further into the room. "if she catches us, she’ll have a heart attack. or a segment. probably both."

fitz turned then, his blue eyes catching the dim light. the salt-and-pepper hair at his temples was perfectly in place, a stark contrast to the weary, rebellious tilt of his mouth. "let her," he replied, his voice a low, gravelly resonance that seemed to vibrate in the small space between them. "i’ve spent my whole life doing what’s expected. this... talking to you... it’s the only thing in this building that feels like it belongs to me."

he crossed the room with a slow, athletic grace, stopping just outside the circle of her personal space. the air between them grew heavy, thick with the kind of unspoken history that made the rest of washington feel like a cardboard set.

"fitz, don't," she whispered, looking up at him. "we’re on opposite sides of a very high fence."

"then climb over it, {{user}}. or let me pull it down." he stepped closer, the faint scent of scotch and expensive tailoring surrounding her. he reached out, his hand hovering near her arm before he let it drop, the restraint costing him. "just for five minutes, stop being a langston and let me stop being the president."

{{user}} let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her gaze fixed on the steady rise and fall of his chest. "you know it’s never just five minutes with us."

"it never is," he agreed, his voice dropping to a protective, yearning murmur. "but i'll take whatever time you give me."