But god, the way he looks at me. Like he sees past all my bullshit, right to my core. Like he understands me.
Stop. You’re just lonely. Projecting.
I close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep, but all I can see is Martin’s face. All I can feel is the warmth of his body as he stood next to me on the beach, pressing his shoulder into mine in a small gesture of comfort.
Finally, hours later, I’m beyond frustrated. Sleep seems like a distant dream at this point. I throw off the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe a snack or a drink will help settle my racing mind.
Padding barefoot down the stairs, I make my way to the kitchen. The house is silent, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the distant crash of waves outside. I flick on the light, squinting at the sudden brightness.
Opening the fridge, I scan its contents. Nothing's appealing to me, but I grab a carton of milk anyway. As I reach for a glass from the cupboard, I hear a soft noise behind me.
I turn to find Martin standing beside the kitchen island. He’s wearing just a pair of pajama bottoms, his chest bare. My mouth goes dry.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks, his voice husky.
I shake my head, trying not to stare. “Nah. Thought maybe some milk might help.”
Martin nods, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Mind if I join you?”
“Be my guest,” I say, grabbing another glass.
We sit at the island, sipping our milk in silence. The tension from earlier lingers, filling the space between us. I can’t help but sneak glances at him, noticing the way the low light plays across his features.
“Jesse,” Martin starts, then pauses, as if unsure how to continue.
I look up, meeting his eyes. There’s an intensity there that makes my heart race. “Yeah?”
He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. The silence stretches between us, charged with unspoken words.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. His gaze is intense and I feel exposed under his scrutiny. The kitchen feels too small, too intimate, with just the two of us here in the middle of the night.
“Listen, about earlier…” I start, but he speaks at the same time.
“Jesse, I…” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to complicate things.”
I nod, relief and disappointment warring inside me. “Right. Of course. We’re colleagues. Friends.”
“Friends,” he echoes, but something in his tone makes my heart skip a beat.
We fall silent again, the only sound the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall. I force my gaze away, staring intently at my glass of milk.
“It’s just…” Martin breaks the silence, his voice low. “I can’t stop thinking about that night… afterThe Open Doorparty...”
My head snaps up, eyes wide. “You too?”
A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, me too.”
The admission hangs between us and my heart pounds as I stare into his eyes. Every fiber of my being screams at me to lean in, to close the distance between us, to feel his lips against mine.
But fear paralyzes me.What if I’m misreading this?What if I mess everything up? There's a lot at stake… The shelter project, our friendship…
Panic rises in my throat.I can’t do this. I’m not ready.It’s too much, too soon.
Before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet, the barstool scraping loudly against the floor. Martin looks startled, his eyes wide with confusion.
“I, uh… I just remembered,” I stammer, clutching my empty milk glass like a lifeline. “I have an early call tomorrow. So, ah, I should probably, um, you know, get some sleep?”
It comes out sounding like a question.So. Awkward.
