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Okay, hold on, Mitya. Focus on the facts for now. Even if Valeriy’s shirt is struggling to keep itself together across his chest. “Ah…hello, Sarge…?”
Valeriy doesn't look up from his papers as he nods his head. “Mr. Mitya," he greets, as if he isn't in someone else's room.
"...care to explain why you are in my quarters…?” He asks and closes the door behind him, and the scarf locks it immediately just as Mitya thought about it a few milliseconds ago.
Mitya is supposed to be exhausted from work, and yet there are these softest cushions in his room.
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