At first, it seems innocent—just her leaning in when the joke hits, her laughter spilling so freely that it almost covers the subtle brush of her hair against his skin. He tells himself not to notice, not to let his body react to something so small. But her perfume lingers in that space between them, and the tickle of her hair feels less accidental each time.
She doesn’t pull away quickly. Instead, she stays close, her laughter softening into a smile that hovers just inches from his face. He feels the warmth of her breath on his jaw, and for a fleeting second, it seems deliberate—like she knows exactly where she’s placing herself. His shoulders stiffen, yet he doesn’t move away.
By the time her laughter fades, silence fills the gap she leaves. And when she leans in again, for no reason at all, he realizes it isn’t the joke that’s pulling her closer—it’s the game she’s playing. One strand of her hair grazes his neck again, slower this time, like a whisper she doesn’t need to say aloud.