The knock on the door came exactly three minutes after Dean had decided he was fully dressed, only mildly doomed, and perhaps not yet too far gone to throw the velvet box out the window and pretend the entire evening was a misunderstanding.
He looked at the door.
Then at Sylvia.
Sylvia looked back with the radiant calm of a woman who had already chosen chaos and was waiting for it to arrive.
Boreas lifted his head from the carpet and gave a low, anticipatory huff.
Dean narrowed his eyes. "If that is him, you are not allowed to enjoy this."
"I am already enjoying this," Sylvia said. "That condition has failed."
The knock came again, this time sounding like it was made by a man who had every right to enter the room without permission but, infuriatingly, chose to ask.
Dean's heart misbehaved; one would believe that after half a year of this, his treacherous heart would get used to it. It did not.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened.
