The air feels different. Charged.
"I should start dinner," he says, but he doesn't move.
Neither do I.
We stand there, the space between us shrinking with each breath, until finally he steps back and runs a hand through his hair.
"Yeah. Dinner."
We move to the kitchen, and every accidental touch sends electricity through me. When he reaches past me for the olive oil, his arm brushes mine. When I hand him a knife, our fingers connect. When we both reach for the same cutting board, we freeze, hands touching.
He doesn't pull away immediately. Neither do I.
"Iris." My name is rough in his voice.
"Yeah?"
He's staring at my mouth. I watch him wage some internal war, see the moment discipline wins. He steps back.
"Garlic. We need garlic."
Dinner preparation becomes an exercise in torture. The kitchen is small, forcing us into constant proximity. Every movement, every breath, every glance feels weighted with intention.
By the time we sit down to eat, the tension is thick enough to choke on.
We make it through pasta and salad with stilted conversation. I ask about his family. He asks about my students. We talk around everything that matters.
After dinner, we clean up in loaded silence. I wash, he dries, and when I hand him the last plate, our hands linger together longer than necessary.
"Movie?" he suggests. "There's a collection here."
"Sure."
We settle on the couch, not touching, but close. He picks something action-heavy that neither of us really watches. I'm too aware of him beside me, the heat of his body, the way his arm is stretched across the back of the couch just behind my shoulders.
Halfway through, I shiver. The fire has burned low.
"Cold?" he asks.
"A bit."
He gets up to add wood to the fire, then returns to the couch. This time, when he sits, he's closer. Close enough that our thighs touch.
"Better?"
I nod, not trusting my voice.
His arm comes around my shoulders, and I let myself lean into him. His fingers trace absent patterns on my upper arm, and I wonder if he realizes he's doing it.
On screen, something explodes. I barely notice.
"Iris."
"Hmm?"
"You're not watching the movie."
"Neither are you."
