I turn on the couch, positioning myself so my back is to him, my legs crossed beneath me. I can feel the heat of his body behind me, the couch dipping slightly under his weight. "How's this?"I ask, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder. But I don't resist the urge to scoot back until I'm leaning on him.
A soft rumble of assent vibrates through my back. He's still so tense, but a bit less so than he was a minute ago.
"I'm going to start eating now," I tell him, reaching for my container of pho. "And I won't turn around until you tell me I can. Just tap me on the shoulder, okay? Three times."
Another rumble.
The silence is broken only by the soft sounds of me stirring my soup. Then, after what feels like an eternity, I hear the rustle of fabric behind me. The sound of his mask being lowered. He's more tense than ever now, his muscles locked tight against my back.
I keep my promise, focusing intently on my food. The broth is rich and flavorful, the noodles perfectly cooked. I take a bite of a spring roll, the crisp wrapper giving way to the savory filling inside.
This is the best pho I've ever had.
Behind me, I hear the soft tap of chopsticks against the container. Otherwise, he's completely silent, to the extent it feels deliberate. His breathing seems shallow, as if he's barely allowing himself to relax even now.
"This is really good," I say, trying to fill the silence, to make this feel more normal for both of us. "Thank you. I haven't had pho in... god, I don't even know how long."
A soft grunt of acknowledgment is his only response, but it's something. A sign that he's listening, that he's still there and hasn't completely shut down.
"Do you want to watch something while we eat?" I suggest, nodding toward the TV. "We could put on a movie or something."
There's a pause, then the sound of movement behind me. I hear him reach for something—the remote, I assume—and he scrolls through options before settling on an old Western.
"Perfect," I say, taking another bite of my pho.
We eat in companionable silence for a while, the movie providing a welcome distraction. I focus on the screen, on my food, on anything but the temptation to turn around. It's surprisingly hard to sit with someone, especially someone I'm this attracted to, without looking at them at all.
When I finish my pho, I set it on the coffee table and lean against him fully, closing my eyes, resting the back of my head on his shoulder. He leans into me, too, but only slightly. He'd fold me in half otherwise.
A few minutes later, he sets his container on the coffee table, and I hear fabric rustling before he taps my shoulder. Three times, like we'd agreed.
"Can I turn around now?" I ask, double checking.
He gives another soft rumble and taps me again.
Turning slowly, I give him plenty of time to make sure his mask is securely in place. When I face him again, he looks much the same as before, the black fabric covering the lower half of his face, his blue eyes watching me carefully.
But there's a difference now. A subtle shift in his posture, in the set of his shoulders. As if trustingmefor once has eased something inside him. I curl into his side, and after a moment'shesitation, he drapes a huge arm around my shoulders and pulls me a little closer.
The movie keeps playing, but I'm not paying much attention. The warm weight of his arm around me, the steady rise and fall of his chest… it feels like sanctuary. Not the loft itself, but him. Like something I didn't even know I was missing until I found it.
I find myself studying his profile as he watches the movie. The strong line of his jaw beneath the mask, the deep blue of his eyes, the shadow of his dark lashes against his skin. His attention seems focused on the screen, but I can tell by the slight tension in his shoulders that he's hyperaware of me watching him.
My body feels heavy with exhaustion suddenly, bone-deep weariness hitting me all at once. I stifle a yawn, the chaos of awaytoo chaotic day catching up with me all at once. Wraith seems to notice, his head tilting slightly toward me in concern. His hand moves between us.
T-I-R-E-D?
"A little," I admit. "It's been a long day."
S-H-O-U-L-D... S-L-E-E-P.
I nod groggily. "Yeah, probably."
He rises from the couch and gestures toward the bed, then points to the couch, indicating that I should take the bed while he lays down here.
Just like before.
But something has changed between us tonight.
