˚₊‧꒰ა bnuuy ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The metal warps her features, stretches and thins them to it’s body. It does nothing to ease the intensity of her gaze, to ease the foreign sensation at the pit of his stomach. Johnny can’t understand what this look means, what she’s looking to for. He doesn’t understand why it’s directed at him, what could he offer her?

She’d made her disinterest in him clear from the beginning. Offering only flat stares, unmoved by his attempt to lighten the mood and break the ice, staring at him blankly as he offered his hand to shake. Never spending longer than necessary with him, lasting longer with the full group. Giving him wide berth, Johnny’s not sure she’s ever brushed past him. He doesn’t know what her air smells like.

It does nothing to quell the warmth he feels when she’s in the room. To slow the rush of blood to his neck, creeping upward to the tips of his ears. Her avoidance doesn’t subdue the prickling sensation in his palms that no amount of clenching can undo. There is no tamping down the electric sensation he feels when he’s floating around her gravitational pull.

Johnny can accept her disinterest, understand it, it does nothing to diminish the want coursing through him.

It’s been years since Johnny stopped chasing adrenaline. His addiction subdued by the reminder of a mother and sisters that wait for him, unsure if he’ll return. Or if he did, if it’d be in a box, the Union Jack draped across it. Any adrenaline rush had done nothing to stave off the sickness that image provided.

It never lasted, he always crashed. Reality rattling him out of his hazy state, forced to come to terms with the bloody world at his fingertips. He’d forgotten the sensation, a scent faded with the time and the healing.

And yet, he’d been slowly inundated with it. Had felt the slow creep into his bloodstream, occupying the miniscule space between his red blood cells. It’d settled into his veins until he felt his body gently buzzing with it. Heightened by her eyes on him, reinvigorated by every breath in her presence. Every thought of her oxygenating what coursed through his vein, until it became a part of him. A constant to quell what he’d been searching for in the deserts and tundra's.

Her presence calls to him, pulls the molecules in his body towards her. They beg to be matched with hers.

He settles for being in her space, helps with the separation of paper.

“Have you seen me somewhere before?” It comes out scratchy, the words half caught in his throat, unsure if they’d be spoken.

If she notices it doesn’t show, her gaze remains even. The only sign of acknowledgment is the slight crease between her eyebrows. Her head tilts, eyes flitting across his face and makes no move to answer.

Johnny coughs, clears his throat before he continues, “Sorry, not being smart, you just,” he trails for a moment. Running his tongue across the back of his teeth as he thinks of the right words, “It’s like you’re trying to remember me from somewhere.”

Her fingers stutter for a minuscule moment over the papers before she continues on. Her eyes flick up at him, flitting across his face, unreadable.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

Her voice is even despite the slight rigidity in her forearms. No other indication of any of the emotions she’s feeling at the moment, if she’s feeling anything at all. He’s not dumb, he knows the signs of discomfort but he just can’t pinpoint what the discomfort is. It still makes him embarrassed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as the tips of his ears start to burn.

“Ah, right. Sorry about that lass.” There’s a brief moment of silence where she simply continues to work, no acknowledgment of his lackluster apology before Johnny speaks up again. “At least I’m glad that we didn’t have some run in at the club.”

That get’s a reaction out of her. A snort before she responds, “You and I,” her tone has him raising an eyebrow at her, “would not be at the same sort of clubs.”

Johnny can’t help the sound of indignation that comes out of his mouth, “Och, what’s that supposed to mean?”

She laughs, though it’s more like a small huff, “It means you Scots can’t dance.”

“Like hell! I can dance just fine.”

“Oh so you can dance salsa then?”

There’s a bit of silence while Johnny wracks his brain for the specific sub category. Alejandro had taught him a lot in Mexico, even taken him to clubs where he could try out the new steps but the dances all blurred together. He only knew what to do based on the music and the beat. Still, he tuck away this specific genre for later.

She mistakes his silence for resignation and moves to collect her sorted piles, “I thought so.”

He doesn’t mean for it to happen. His body moves without thinking, motivated by the idea of keeping her around him for as long as he can. He reaches out instinctively as she moves, catching her wrist with a slack grip, her skin warm under his fingers.

Two things happen at once. Johnny’s arm feels like a live wire. There is a buzzing sensation that starts from where his fingertips touch his skin and crawls up until it reaches his shoulders and continues to spill through the rest of his body. He’s watching her through this, in awe of the sensation that her skin alone has given him. It’s why he doesn’t miss the way her eyes dilate at the contact, or how her lips part slightly as she inhales sharply at the contact.

They freeze or a moment, her eyes glued on where he holds her as her eyebrows furrow just slightly. His eyes can’t look away from her face, analyzing every twitch of muscle that he can get. Trying to make sense of her micro expressions and what it all means.

It’s a short lived moment. Silent, intimate, and then it’s done. Just as quickly as it started.

She slips out of his grasp, his fingers curling around nothing.

“I’ve got to go.”