The faintest crease of curiosity touched Matteo's brow as he noticed Felix following him, but he didn't stop him. He didn't need to.
They walked in a comfortable silence, side by side, their shoulders nearly brushing in the dimly lit hall, until Matteo pushed open the heavy, dark-wood door to his room.
Inside, the air felt different—quieter, stiller, and heavy with his essence.
It was a blend of crisp, clean linen, the subtle, expensive trace of sandalwood cologne, and the faint, comforting scent of old paper and late nights spent working.
It was the smell of him, of Matteo, and it wrapped around Felix like a welcome embrace.
Matteo moved toward his minimalist desk, his fingers automatically going to unbutton his cuffs as if ready to resume the work that always called him.
But he paused when the soft click of the door closing sounded behind them.
