Kael's breath hitched as Elise's thumb traced another slow circle against his wrist, her touch feather-light yet deliberate.
He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of his sleeve, the pressure of her fingers just shy of painful—like she was testing how much she could push before he'd pull away.
He didn't. Couldn't.
His muscles locked, caught between the instinct to retreat and the dizzying realization that part of him wanted this, wanted to see how far she'd go. The thought alone made his stomach twist.
"You're trembling," she murmured, her voice a low hum that vibrated against his ear. Her lips were so close he could feel the shape of her words against his skin.
"Don't be nervous."
The reassurance should have been comforting, but the way her fingers tightened around his wrist—possessive, claiming—sent a jolt of something electric down his spine.
This wasn't nervousness.
This was anticipation, thick and suffocating, curling in his chest like smoke.
From the kitchen, Lena's laughter rang out, bright and oblivious, the clatter of plates a distant counterpoint to the tension thrumming between them.
Kael's throat worked around words that wouldn't come. He should say something—anything—to break whatever spell she was weaving.
But the way she was looking at him, her dark eyes half-lidded, her lips parted just so, made his thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm.
Elise exhaled softly, her breath warm against his jaw. "You're thinking too hard," she whispered, and this time, her free hand came up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
The gesture was intimate, maternal, but the way her fingertips lingered—trailing down to trace the shell of his ear—was anything but.
Kael swallowed hard. He'd seen her touch her husband like this once, years ago, when she thought no one was looking.
The memory flickered, unwelcome, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat too long.
When he opened them, she was smiling—a small, knowing thing that made his pulse stutter.
"Better," she murmured, her thumb pressing into the frantic flutter of his pulse point.
Then, just like that, she released him, stepping back with the grace of someone who hadn't just unraveled him with a touch. The absence of her warmth was jarring.
"Dinner's almost ready," she said, smooth as silk, as if the last sixty seconds hadn't happened. "Go wash up."
Kael exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, the word "Okay" slipping out like a prayer of escape.
He didn't wait for her response—just pivoted on his heel and all but fled down the hallway toward the bathroom, his footsteps too quick, too loud against the hardwood.
Behind him, Elise's quiet laugh curled through the air like smoke, rich with amusement and something darker, something that made the back of his neck prickle.
He could feel her gaze on him even as he turned the corner, heavy and lingering, as if she were memorizing the way his shoulders tensed under her scrutiny.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him with a finality that felt like salvation.
Kael braced his hands against the sink, his fingers digging into the cold porcelain as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed—traitorous signs of the adrenaline thrumming through him.
He twisted the faucet on with more force than necessary, the rush of water drowning out the muffled sounds of Lena chatting animatedly in the kitchen.
The cold splash against his face did little to calm the heat simmering under his skin.
He scrubbed at his cheeks roughly, as if he could erase the ghost of Elise's touch, the way her thumb had circled his wrist with slow, deliberate precision.
When he straightened, droplets clinging to his lashes, the face staring back at him looked both foreign and painfully familiar.
The same sharp jawline, the same messy dark hair. But the eyes—wider now, uncertain—weren't the eyes of the boy who'd joked with Lena in class just hours ago.
They belonged to someone else, someone caught in a current he didn't understand.
Kael pressed his damp palms against his thighs, willing the tremor in his fingers to still.
Get it together, he told himself. It's just dinner. Just lasagna. Just—
The knock at the door nearly sent him out of his skin.
"Kael?" Lena's voice, muffled through the wood. "You planning to hide in there all night? Food's getting cold."
Kael jerked his head toward the door, his heartbeat hammering unevenly against his ribs.
"Yeah," he called out, too loud, too sharp. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Be right there."
The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
He wasn't ready—would never be ready—to sit across from Elise's knowing smile, to pretend he hadn't felt the way her fingers had dug into his skin like she wanted to leave marks.
Kael exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his lips into something that almost passed for a smile.
The reflection in the mirror copied it—crooked, thin, and utterly unconvincing.
"A dream," he murmured under his breath, turning the words over in his mouth like a bitter lozenge.
The bathroom tiles pressed cool against his palms as he pushed himself away from the sink, every muscle drawn tight with the effort of looking composed.
If he told himself it was only a dream often enough, maybe it would start to feel like one. Maybe the warmth still clinging to his wrist would dull into something less visceral. Less real.
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