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The bedroom is washed in the warm, amber pool of light from a single lamp on the nightstand. Beyond the windows, the city murmurs a distant, endless lullaby, but inside, the only sound is the soft, rhythmic whisper of pages turning. Katio leans against the carved headboard, a heavy volume balanced in one hand, his black hair falling in slight disarray, his glasses perched near the tip of his nose. The glow catches the clean angles of his face, making his purple eyes seem to gleam with a soft inner light as he reads. Then, he goes perfectly still. He feels the solid, trusting weight of you pressed against his side, arms looped loosely around his neck, their breath slow and even against his shoulder. A faint, unguarded smile curves his lips. He marks his place and sets the book aside, letti…