Cedric needed to stop noticing these things.
The knife’s rhythmic scritch-scritch filled the silence, but Cedric’s attention fractured—fixing on the sweat-damp hairs at Finn’s nape, the way his lower lip caught between his teeth in concentration. Finn’s breathing was soft, unshaken, as if their closeness was nothing at all. But Cedric? He was unraveling.
Focus on the wood, Cedric commanded himself, even as his traitorous mind whispered how easily Finn’s hands could pin him against the workbench, how the knife might clatter forgotten to the floor. His blade slipped, nicking the cedar.
Finn glanced up, brows lifting. “Thought you said this was about control.”
Cedric forced himself to exhale, willing the warmth in his face to subside. “Even the best make mistakes.”
Finn leaned in, his grin teasing but not unkind. “Good to know you’re not too perfect.”
“Only mostly.” Cedric shot him a dry look. “Are you going to carve or talk all night?”
Finn chuckled, returning his attention to the wood. But Cedric had the distinct feeling he wasn’t the only one fighting distraction.
Finn turned his head slightly, catching Cedric’s gaze. Their faces were suddenly inches apart.
Time stalled.
Cedric’s pulse raced as Finn’s gaze flickered lower. To his mouth. He could see the way Finn’s pupils dilated, the silent pull between them like gravity shifting, dragging them closer.
Every instinct screamed at him to move, to break the moment before it swallowed him whole.
But he didn’t.
For a brief, breathless moment, Cedric thought Finn might close the distance. Might kiss him.
And worse—a reckless, aching part of him wanted it.
Then reason sliced through him. Dangerous. This was dangerous. He was getting in too deep.
Clearing his throat, he jerked back, breaking the spell. “So, uh, that’s the basics,” he said, voice rasping in his throat, utterly unconvincing. “With practice, you’ll get better at the details.”
Finn blinked, as if shaking off the same daze. He straightened, fingers closing around the knife, though he didn’t carve. “Right, yeah. Thanks for showing me.”
Silence pooled between them, thick as smoke, stretching like a taut rope between two points.
Cedric busied himself tidying the workspace. Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if Finn had actually?—
No. Don’t even think it.
And yet, he could still feel it—the phantom warmth of their near-touch, the way Finn had looked at him.
Finn cleared his throat. “Cedric.”
Cedric tensed. “Mm?”
Finn hesitated, shifting his weight. “Can I ask you something?”
No. Absolutely not. “Of course,” Cedric said instead, already bracing for impact. Whatever Finn asked, Cedric already knew his answer would likely be a lie.
Finn hesitated, something thoughtful—or suspicious—in his gaze. “Why do you only work at night? And where do you go during the day?”
Cedric’s stomach dropped.
“I saw the pallet in the stables,” Finn added.
Shit.
