The room was quiet, but the air between them wasn’t. It was heavy—like something unspoken had been building for hours, maybe days.
She stood near the window, pretending to look outside, but she could feel him behind her. Not touching yet… just close enough to make her heartbeat uneven.
“You’re doing it again,” he said softly.
“Doing what?” she asked, without turning.
“Acting like you don’t feel this.”
That made her pause.
Slowly, she turned around. Their eyes met, and for a moment neither of them moved. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t rushed. It was dangerous in the quietest way possible.
He stepped closer—not sudden, not forceful. Just enough to break the distance she kept pretending she wanted.
His hand lifted, hesitated for a second… then gently touched her wrist. That single touch felt heavier than words. Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away.
“You always do this,” she whispered.
“Do what?”
“Get too close.”
A faint smile appeared on his face. “And you always stay.”
That was the truth neither of them said out loud before.
His fingers slowly traced along her hand, not rushing anything, like he was memorizing her presence instead of claiming it. The tension between them didn’t fade—it deepened.
She finally looked up at him fully. “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably,” he admitted.
“But you’re not moving,” she said.
“And neither are you.”
Silence wrapped around them again, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with everything they hadn’t dared to say.
He leaned in slightly—not enough to kiss, just enough to make her forget how to breathe properly.
“Still want me to stop?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t answer right away.
Because the truth was… neither of them wanted him to.
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