He had been talking, though by the time she leaned in, he couldn’t remember what about. Her silence wasn’t awkward—it was deliberate. She let her presence do the talking, closing the space between them until he could feel the faint rhythm of her breathing against his skin. It wasn’t just the warmth of her breath; it was the way she lingered there, just close enough that every nerve along his neck came alive.
He didn’t dare move. She hadn’t given him permission to—hadn’t even looked at him yet. Her head tilted slightly, and the faint scent of her hair mixed with the heat of her exhale. It wasn’t the sort of contact anyone else would have noticed from across the room, but to him, it felt as if the entire world had gone still.
Seconds stretched. His mind scrambled to decide whether to lean closer or pull away, but she gave no hint of what she wanted. That was the point—she was making him wait, making him feel each quiet moment as if it might turn into something more at any second. And when she finally pulled back, she didn’t explain herself. She simply let the absence of her warmth become the thing he couldn’t stop thinking about.