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It's quiet. A bit of downtime between tasks. The sun has long set, but the warm glow of the lamp gives off just enough light to read.
And reading is exactly what Solo was choosing to do. He's nestled comfortably in the corner of the couch, his elbow propped up on the arm of it to hold the book. His shirt is scandalously unbuttoned (three is far too many), and the hour of night means his hair is falling out of its pomade.
Illya's heart is hammering in his chest, and his fingers drum with it. If he's being honest with himself, it hasn't stopped hammering since Rome. Something about this infuriating American spy was driving Illya mad and he needs to do something about it.
With an annoyed huff, Illya stands from his spot at the kitchen table and stalks into the livingroom, stopping just in front of Solo.
"I became infatuated with you at first sight," he says bluntly, making Solo look up at him with a raised brow. Illya continues, "I would like to get to know you better, so I can get over this...." he furrows his brow, searching for the right English word, "-this ridiculous crush."
"You think getting to know me would make you like me less?" Solo asks in that awful tone of patient confidence that always makes Illya's stomach do flips, amusement glittering in his eyes.
Illya nods like that's the most obvious thing in the world. His partner could only get more annoying, right? "Most definitely."
"Okay," Solo says simply as he snaps shut the book he was reading without marking the page (the heathen) and sets it on the table next to the lamp. He folds his hands in his lap and smiles up at him sweetly, his head tilted. "Where do you wanna start?"
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Illya may have made a mistake.