There it is again – that hollow feeling which follows a night shared, multiplied when her scent wafts up from the sheets.
Erwin fights to ignore it as he makes the bed, makes it out to mean he feels nothing, as he should.
A thing of convenience – for both of them, no doubt – just a thing to distract himself with and to keep rumours at bay.
No need for feelings, of any sort; hence the appropriateness of that hollowness, which he still wishes will disappear once he finishes making the bed.
He opens the window – she wanted it closed and he obliged despite the discomfort – to clear out the stuffiness of the room and to bring the temperature down to something he’ll
better tolerate; it feels even cooler on his wet skin once he finishes washing off the sweat from the night before.
Erwin makes a plan for the day as he dresses; a cup of coffee and some breakfast, he’ll glance through the paper just to see what they’re lying about now if for no other reason.
Work after that, a few letters and the files from the week that always pile up to be sorted through on the weekend.
He thinks of having dinner in a restaurant somewhere and then remembers the leg of lamb he got from Frau Hirsch.
What a bother women can be to an unmarried man, and in how many ways, though, Erwin thinks as he buttons up his slacks, they do have their uses on occasion.
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