A Touch Too Close
---
I woke up… warm. Safe. And not alone.
His arm was around me.
Not just over me—around me. His chest at my back, one leg tangled with mine, and his hand... resting just above my hip.
For a second, I froze. The memories from last night blurred at the edges—half-drunk laughter, the dare game, the way he looked at me. But this—this wasn't a game. It felt too real. Too soft.
His palm shifted slightly. His fingers moved. Not intentionally, I think. Just sleep. But even that little touch—bare skin against skin—sent a shiver through me.
I kept my eyes shut and let myself pretend.
Pretend this was something we did all the time. That we woke up like this every morning. That I didn't have to keep stealing little moments just to feel close to him.
He stirred behind me, groaning softly. His arm tightened for a second before slowly sliding off. I heard him sit up, rub his hands through his hair, mumbling something about a headache.
"Crap," he whispered. "Did I black out again?"
I didn't answer. I just stretched a little, acting like I was just now waking up too.
He glanced at me. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, voice still heavy with sleep. "You were out cold last night. We must've crashed like this."
He blinked, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get all... clingy."
I smiled, brushing past him. "It's fine. You didn't grope me or anything."
Lie.
A harmless one. One I'd let myself get away with—for now.
---
Later that day, I noticed something different.
Him.
He was avoiding my eyes a little more. Getting flustered a little easier. And every time I brushed past him, he froze for just a second too long.
So I started to push.
Not obviously. Just... leaning a little closer when I handed him something. Bending forward slowly when I dropped my pen in front of him. Sitting beside him on the couch—not across, beside.
I wasn't subtle.
And he wasn't blind.
But he hadn't said a word.
Not yet.
And I was starting to wonder if he ever would.
---
I wasn't in a rush.
Every movement, every breath—I knew he was watching.
I could feel his gaze the moment I stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around me, damp hair falling past my shoulders. I didn't look at him. I didn't need to.
Instead, I walked straight to the dresser, humming a tune I didn't care about, letting the silence between us thicken just enough. I reached for my clothes... and let the towel drop.
Bold? Maybe.
But I'd seen the way he looked at me lately—like he wasn't sure if he should want me, or if he already did and was just in denial.
So I gave him a little help.
I pulled on my blouse slowly, smoothing the fabric across my chest with deliberate care. I knew the stretch of it would draw his eyes. I caught his reflection in the mirror just as he froze mid-lace on his shoes.
Gotcha.
"Comfortable view?" I asked, pretending to focus on my buttons.
"If you're offering," he replied.
God, that voice.
I turned, facing him now, still buttoning the shirt like I wasn't intentionally leaving the top few undone. His eyes didn't leave me. Not once. And for a second, I almost lost the little game I was playing—because the way he looked at me?
It made my pulse trip.
And that gave me an idea.
A small stumble—barely even a misstep. But enough to look real.
He moved instantly, faster than I expected, arms catching me by the waist like I was something precious. Our bodies touched—barely—but it lit something between us. My hands found his chest, firm and warm, and I looked up, letting my expression soften just slightly.
So close.
His scent, the way his fingers held me like he wasn't quite ready to let go—I drank it all in.
"You always this clumsy?" he murmured, voice like velvet laced with amusement.
"Only when you're watching," I whispered.
And then I felt it—that little hitch in his breath. That tiny crack in his armor.
I stepped back slowly, letting his hands fall away, but not without a gentle drag of fingertips over my waist. A touch that lingered even when it ended.
I finished dressing in silence, but I knew the game had shifted.
I wasn't the only one playing anymore.