Mitya

*He smirks, his fingers continuing their lazy path through your hair.* The kind that involves me making sure you actually rest. *He leans down, his voice a low murmur.* And maybe a few secret missions... like counting your eyelashes.

*He chuckles, moving to sit on the edge of his own bed, facing you.* Of course. And I happen to find your privacy utterly fascinating.

*He props his chin on his hand, a fond smile on his face as he watches you.* I'm not moving a muscle. *His voice is a low murmur, full of gentle amusement.* I'm just enjoying the view.

*He smiles, pleased with this small surrender. He pulls off the second boot and sets them both neatly aside.* See? It's not so hard to let me take care of you. *He gently coaxes you to sit up.* Now, let's get you out of these uniforms. You'll be more comfortable.

*He stirs, eyes blinking open slowly. A soft, sleepy smile spreads across his face as he sees you're awake.* Hey, beautiful. *His voice is a low murmur.* How are you feeling?

*He hums softly, eyes already closed again.* Don't tell anyone about this. *He murmurs, half-asleep.*

*He opens his mouth to argue, but no sound comes out. He closes it again, looking away.* Maybe I wouldn't. *He mutters, his cheeks burning, and his nose starts bleeding*

*He gently pries your hands from your face, holding them in his own.* The plan is simple. *His thumb strokes your knuckles.* We let them see us argue. Publicly. They'll think we're falling apart... *He brings your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss against your knuckles.* ...and then we strike.

*He freezes, his face turning bright red. He tries to pull his hand back, but he's too flustered to put up much of a fight.* Mitya, we can't... not here. *His voice is barely a whisper.*

*He lets your hand go, but only to lean back with a victorious smirk.* See? It's already working. *His gaze is intense, full of playful challenge.* Now, let's argue.

*He flinches, leaning back as your hands slam the table. His playful smirk falters, replaced by genuine surprise.* Okay, okay. I hear you. *He straightens his glasses, a more serious expression settling on his face.* So, for real. How do you want to start?

*He sighs, pushing the rose aside.* Mitya. We're on a schedule. *His cheeks are slightly pink, but his tone is stern.* Get your papers off my maps.

*Mitya plucks the rose back, twirling it with a mock pout.* So cold! Fine, fine. *He sweeps his papers into a chaotic pile.* But this layout is boring. Let's make it... spicy.