I looked forward to seeing the fish.
Puff Daddy still rushed the glass when I came in, ridiculous and round and dramatic enough that the first time he did it,I almost cried. The cuttlefish pulsed frustrated colors at me, clearly conveying her opinions about my absence. The moraysstillneeded their feeding schedule corrected because Ben, despite his many talents, had apparently decided “close enough” was an acceptable measurement for animals who thrived on consistency.
And Tobias listened.
That was the problem tucked inside the problem.
He listened the same way he always had, maybe even more intensely now, as if every word I gave him had become proof I was still there.
He listened so well that sometimes I forgot to be afraid for a few minutes.
But then the cuff would shift between us, metal sliding against metal, and I would remember.
That morning, we stopped in front of the reef system because one of the smaller wrasses, specifically one of the three fairies, was acting strangely near the back rockwork. I leaned forward without thinking, one hand braced against the edge of the viewing barrier while Tobias stood close enough that I could feel the heat of him beside me.
Too close.
Or not too close.
I didn’t know anymore.
“That one,” I said, nodding toward the rockwork. “See how he’s hanging back?”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t doing that before.”
“No.”
I looked up sharply. “Did you already notice?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“I wanted to see if you would.”
I stared at him, my eye on the verge of twitching.
He looked back with perfect seriousness.
“You fucker,” I grumbled.
“I apologize.”
“You do not.”
“No,” he admitted. “Not for that, I suppose.”
Despite myself, the corner of my mouth began to quirk up.
I killed it almost instantly, but Tobias had already seen it.
His attention locked onto my mouth. It was not leering. It was not even overt. If anything, he looked away too quickly, almost like he had touched something hot.
But I saw it.
I felt it.
