keep
PAIRING: ronald speirs/reader WORD COUNT: 813 A/N: this is a very short, vaguely angsty ficlet (?) because i stan ronald speirs but i am physically incapable of writing anything more explicit than eye contact. i feel kind of weird about this because it’s so short but here it is anyway. enjoy :)
There is the sound of boots against the floor, rapidly approaching, and then the bright clink of rattling silverware. A moment later, a silver tray is dropped onto the far side of the desk, various goblets and plates balancing precariously on its surface.
You glance up just enough to catch sight of the warped image of your face in the polished mirror-like surface of the nearest goblet. Four, you count, stacked on top of each other, and you allow yourself a moment to watch as the one on top teeters for a moment. It stills.
“What do you even do with all that stuff?” you say, returning to the half-finished report in front of you. Your fingers rest on the keys of the typewriter, but you’ve stopped typing since he entered the room. You should start typing again ― the report is already overdue ― but you don’t.
