Laurent had put his own white shirt back on, though nothing else. He must have scooped it up off the floor; Damen had a lovely half memory of tugging it from Laurent’s wrists where it had tangled. The shirt reached the top of his thighs. The fine white fabric suited him. There was something splendid about seeing him like this, loosely laced, only part dressed. Damen propped his head on one hand, and watched him approach.
You are so smitten omg
