The weight of it.
The fact that I didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think before reaching for her.
My hand lingers there for a beat, caught between instinct and restraint, before I even figure out what I’m supposed to do with it.
“What?” I ask, quieter now.
She glances at my hand, then back at me, something unreadable passing through her eyes before she answers.
“Well… I was going to suggest a Marvel marathon,” she says. “But you probably already have plans, so… just forget it.”
A Marvel marathon.
I let go of her arm then, leaning back slightly, giving her space even as something in me resists it.
“I used to do one with my brother every winter break,” she adds, a little more unsure now. “Takes about a week if you pace it right. Less if you don’t sleep.”
I don’t hesitate.
“Perfect.”
Her head snaps up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, meeting her eyes. “But on one condition.”
She straightens immediately. “Okay…”
“We start with Iron Man.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course we do. Where else would you start?”
Lexy slides off the stool, taking her plate to the sink, and I watch her for a second longer than I should, the movement of her, the ease of it, the way she fits into this space like she’s always been here.
And that thought sits wrong.
Because no matter how many times I tell myself to keep my distance, to keep this simple, she keeps slipping past it.
And I don’t know how to stop it.
???
Alexis
The couch suddenly feels too small, which makes no sense, because it isn’t.
There’s enough space between us that I could stretch my legs out fully if I wanted to, but I don’t. Instead, I stay curled into my side of it, the blanket pulled over my lap like it’s some kind of shield, trying very hard to focus on the movie and not on Dex.
He’s leaned back like he owns the place, which he does, one arm stretched along the back of the couch behind me. He isn’t touching me, and still I can feel him there, a quiet, constant presence that makes it impossible to forget how little space there actually is between us.
Every time he shifts, the scent of him drifts my way and something about it settles low in my chest before tightening, like my body reacts before I have time to think it through.
I pull the blanket tighter.
“Cold?” he asks.
“No,” I say too quickly, the word slipping out sharper than I mean it to.
He doesn’t comment on that.
