The conference was coming up at the end of the month, and though Ragnar had been going for the last several years, it didn't mean he didn't push himself every year to come up with something of interest. He had books at work, and peace, and less distractions than at home. So here he was.
The phone rang from the front desk, which was odd.
"Mhm, Ragnar?" he murmured, scribbling down a few sentences.
"There's a Mr. Monk here to see you."
Monk? Ragnar paused for a moment, thinking. He didn't have any appointments booked. No meetings. He'd kept this month as clear as possible.
"I don't know anyone by that name. Are you certain?"
"Yes. Mr. Athelstan Monk. He asked for the curator-"
Ragnar stopped listening after 'Athelstan'. He felt cold. And a little bit sick. He couldn't remember who or how many people he'd told about Athelstan. Certainly he wouldn't have brought up him being a monk. It was difficult for him to not think this was a prank.
"I'll be up-" if it was...was a public place really the best place to be? "Could you swipe him through to the meetings rooms?" That was just off of the main entrance. And room three was empty right now, according to the timetable he had on his wall. It was small, leather chairs and bookcases. Intimate. "Room three. I'll be five minutes."
Ragnar's hair had been neatly swept back when he'd arrived at work. In fact, up until about thirty seconds ago he'd looked quite presentable. Now his hair was flopping around his face, his cheeks were flushed, his shirt had to be undone another button because he was pretty sure he was going to suffocate on nothing as he made his way through the back corridors of the museum to the meeting rooms.
He really didn't know how he was going to deal with this. He really didn't know. His heart leapt into his throat when he reached the doorway of the meeting room and saw the other man there. Athelstan. It was his Athelstan.
"I had a dream about you the other night-" Ragnar spoke and barely recognised his own strained voice.