"It's been a fun evening," comes the reply from the low light, the light of the fire catching in the blade every time he throws it up and it takes a tumble back down. He throws a few more just for the fun of challenging himself to remaining sharper than his blade, and then sits up. Whatever order Enver had his papers in before, they're mostly still preserved close enough to their original configuration. But he does have to pull a sheaf from his back as he throws his legs over the side of the table and stands.

He's not unaware that it would be slightly inflammatory to the other man that he was stretched out across his business, but there's something he relishes about the fact that he can hear the smile in the other man's voice. A voice that he belatedly realises leaves him with a strange warmth in his chest.

"Did you enjoy your night, Enver?"

As though he isn't painfully aware that he knows Enver's enjoyment is likely still on the wall from earlier. Now he's grinning himself, his blade left neatly on the table and he only just avoids the urge to stab it into the wood with a violent thunk because he can. It's certainly not lost on him that the other man is wearing a robe and nothing else, something that's easy enough for him to see even in this low light. He doesn't need a lightsource to see very effectively in here thanks to the half-drow his father made him resemble.