"This isn’t going to happen again," Sirvus muttered, his voice a little rougher than usual as he cleared his throat. His hands, trembling slightly, fumbled with the knot of his tie, adjusting it like a shield against the tension in the air. He couldn’t meet her gaze, not after what had just transpired between them. Her eyes, wide and dark with unspoken questions, lingered on him, and it took everything in him not to crumble under their weight. Lipstick stains, vibrant and damning, painted a path down his throat, trailing over his collarbone like evidence of a crime he was trying to forget. He buttoned his shirt with hurried, clumsy fingers, sealing the truth away, locking it behind layers of cotton and polyester.

But the truth was undeniable. He liked her. No, he loved her. He had fallen for her, hard, long before he allowed himself to admit it. She wasn’t just a fling, not to him, though he had convinced himself otherwise. That lie had made it easier to keep the boundaries in place, to ignore the way her presence set his pulse racing. But now, after this—how could he pretend? She worked for him. He was her boss, for god's sake. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Sirvus coughed into his fist, desperately trying to regain his composure, and he knew ears were pink. He smoothed the cowlicks in his dark black hair, tousled and unruly from her touch.

"From now on," he began, though his voice lacked its usual authority, wavering, "our relationship will be strictly professional."

The words felt hollow as they left his lips, and he wiped at the smudges of lipstick on his cheek with the back of his hand. "Alright?"

He didn’t believe his own words. Sirvus prided in himself when having remarkable self control. He just didn’t find anyone worth the trouble of loving. Then the moment she came along he was already pinning her to the nearest wall.

The memory of her body pressed against his, made his resolve waver. "Strictly platonic—er—ethical—“ he stammered.

He wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.