I don't know how much longer I can fight this urge.
Elias
Alex was out of town for the weekend.
Liana texted earlier—
"Hey, I need to finish this assignment for class. I left some stuff at your place. Can I stop by and grab it?"
He replied:
"I'll drive you."
Now they were in his living room.
Sitting on the hardwood floor.
Two pieces of foam board, scissors, ruler, glue gun.
She said it was a psych class presentation. Some "visual representation of internal states."
She wanted to build it herself. Of course she did.
But she wasn't good at measuring.
So he helped.
Kneeling beside her. Drawing lines. Holding the edges down while she cut.
Her hair brushed his shoulder more than once.
She didn't notice.
He did.
Every. Time.
"Hold it here?" she asked, leaning closer.
He nodded. Mute.
She placed the ruler. Bent forward. And her knee slipped.
Not far. Just enough. Her balance tipped. Her weight hit his shoulder.
And then she was in his lap.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for every alarm in his body to go off at once.
She froze.
He didn't breathe.
"Sorry—sorry," she said quickly, pushing off him.
She sat back on her heels. Flushed. Eyes wide.
"It's fine," he said, voice tight. "It's nothing."
Except it wasn't. The touch, the smell, everything about her.
His pulse was in his throat.
She looked at him. Really looked.
Not afraid. Not embarrassed. Just... curious.
She reached out—slow, tentative—and touched his forearm.
Light. Barely there.
"You're warm," she said. "Are you—are you shaking?"
His whole body locked.
No.
Yes.
God, yes.
But he didn't move. Didn't speak.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
He swallowed. Hard.
"I'm fine."
She didn't pull her hand away. And he didn't tell her to.
Her thumb brushed his skin. A slow, unconscious gesture.
He nearly flinched. But didn't.
He told himself to pull back.
Now. Just move. She's not yours. She never was.
But he didn't. Couldn't.
She was here. Inches away.
And everything in him screamed to stay.
She trusts me. She thinks I'm safe.
And if I touch her now, if I hold her—
That all disappears.
He let out a slow breath. Said, "You should keep working."
She blinked. "Right. Yeah."
But her voice was breathy.
And her hand… lingered another beat before it dropped.
She turned back to the board.
Started gluing edges in silence.
He sat back against the wall, watching her.
Not saying anything.
Trying to calm the war in his chest.
She doesn't know what she's doing.
She's just… close.
That's all.
And he'd survive it. He had to.
But as she leaned over again, her shirt shifting just enough to expose the soft line of her shoulder, the edge of her collarbone—
He looked away. Fisted his hands.
And thought—
I'm going to break if this keeps going.
But he said nothing.
Because she hadn't crossed a line. Not really.
And neither had he. Not yet.