rƒz

Your heart jumps at the casual physical contact, the touch adding fuel to the heat in your cheeks that are already toasty from drinking.

"Perhaps you could have brought a warmer jacket?" you tease, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Walking home together after Friday night karaoke with coworkers has become a regular monthly occurrence. What's less regular is how close and touchy she's been with you lately. Choosing to sit next to you at lunch, brushing fingers when you pass documents to each other. Hugging after a casual outing.

Though perhaps the most egregious of all is how it's escalated tonight: how, at the karaoke bar, she'd leaned her head on your shoulder after complaining about a spell of dizziness. Then later, the way she'd placed a firm hand on your thigh as you ordered another martini from the server. It'd been a request at the behest of one of your teammates, but Selene had squeezed your thigh and sent a pointed look your way—a warning not to overdrink.

And now, Selene's all but wrapping herself around you, clinging onto you like she's—

"You're warm, so you'll have to do," Selene says, not meeting your eyes.

You stare at her bemusedly. "Aren't you always complaining that I'm cold?"

Selene scoffs like you've just said something ridiculous. "Well, right now you're warm," she insists, tightening her hold around your arm, and that's that.

You can only hope she can't read your mind, or else she would be able to tell your heart is threatening to from jump out of your chest. It's taking all of your willpower not to look down at your entwined arms and bring to attention how nervous you are. If you didn't know any better, you would have chalked her behavior up to mere friendliness. Even though you're not prone to such platonic skinship yourself, it's not uncommon for girls to hang onto each other or even hold hands. You're certain Selene has done so with her other friends before.

Except—you know Selene. Much too well. As your scorned ex-girlfriend, she hasn't made herself shy showing her disdain toward you in the past, spurning your every advance and turning her nose up at your invitations to take her out on dates. As is her right, of course. You'd never expected reconciliation to be easy, especially after what you did. Back then, she never would have entertained being in your vicinity if she could help it.

But lately you've noticed a change in her attitude toward you. How she looks at you, how her disgruntled glowers have shifted into fleeting, pensive glances whenever she thinks you don't notice. You're not blind. Somewhere deep down, she still feels something for you. And that something now, combined with a lack of inhibition thanks to a night of drinks, is making her do things she wouldn't normally do. Like nuzzle into you for warmth.

She's not sober, you remind yourself. Back at the karaoke bar, she'd been tipsy enough to sing a few songs when normally she'd tap out after just one and pass the mic over to Megan. Right now she's only acting on impulse. Alcohol makes her careless. It makes her forget that she's still mad at you underneath it all, despite you being friends again.

If you didn't like the attention so much, perhaps you would have scolded her for drinking so much. You should. But you're selfish and cowardly, so you won't. You would rather bask in the unearned affection. It's more than you deserve, but you've never been one to deny things freely given. Especially things you like.

Truthfully, you're grateful for what you have, what she's offered you. Forgiveness; an odd, tentative friendship; and a chance to stay by her side. You couldn't hope to ask for more. The last time you did, she'd firmly shot you down, and you know not to chance it again. Better to prune the affection blossoming in your chest before it grows thorns and hurts you both.

So, instead of giving into the urge to reach down and take her hand, you shove your hands in your pockets.

Selene fills the air with chatter about various topics—the latest xianxia novel she's been reading, gossip about coworkers, a new recipe she's been meaning to try. You're content just to listen to her talk. The sound of her voice soothes you, and in a strange way it calms the racing of your troubled heart.

"Ah, that's right—how did your experiment with that mapo tofu turn out?" you ask, recalling a text she'd sent you all those months ago, back when you two were still dating.

Her steps slow to a stop. Curious, you look down at her and find her brows knitted.

"You remember that?" she asks, voice soft.

"I do," you say, swallowing the urge to admit you've read and re-read every text she'd sent you. Once, as they came in during inopportune moments while you were busy. Then obsessively, over and over again, after the breakup. Random little details that would happen throughout her day. Things she saw that reminded her of you. Topics she wanted to talk about when you had free time. You've practically memorized it all by now, fantasizing about how you would have responded.

"Hm." She looks back at you, eyes lingering on your face like she's studying you, contemplating what you've just said. You know she's working through the implications of it, of your words unspoken. Her perceptiveness has always scared you.

In the silence between you, there's not much to do but meet her searching gaze. Under the warm incandescent glow of the streetlamps, you can see her face clearly—the gentle flush on her cheeks, the sheen of pink lip gloss on her lips. She's cute. But very frustrating. Nosy. Meddlesome. In times like these, you struggle to remind yourself you're not allowed to reach out and pull her close toward you, to tease her as you used to whenever she asked too many prying questions. Anything to make her stop trying to figure you out.

At any rate, what good would it do to read into your words? She's already turned you down.

Then, mercifully, Selene turns forward and keeps walking.

"Oh, it was awful," she says. "Turned out way too watery."

With Selene's apartment being only a few blocks down, it doesn't take long to reach the front of her apartment building. This is a walk in which you've accompanied her many times before, but it's different this time, with her pressing up so closely against you that you can even smell the sweet scent of fruity liquor mixing with her perfume. The aroma makes you heady despite the frigid air. Makes you want to pull her in, sink into her warmth, and drink in all the sweetness she can offer. But still, your hands remain steadfastly buried in your pockets.

Selene lets go of your arm (finally? unfortunately?). She turns toward you, feet shuffling in place. "Do you… want to come inside? Maybe rest up a bit before heading back?"

Your eyebrows rise. You can't even begin to contain the surprise in your expression. You haven't been inside her apartment since you two were dating, and she's never offered to invite you inside since the breakup.

When you remain silent for a breath too long, she continues, hastily, "I could get you some water, so you can sober up, or"—she starts tugging at the drawstrings on her jacket—"or you could even stay the night. I still have some your stuff here, and I'm pretty sure there's a spare pair of pajamas that you left. It's getting late and it's unsafe walking back home alone after you've been drinking."

You can imagine all too vividly how it will go if you take her up on her offer. The moment you walk inside her apartment is the moment all of your inhibitions will fly out of the window. What separates you from pinning her to a wall and claiming her right here and now is quite literally just that one door.

You could push the blame onto her if she gets angry. Could even accuse her of being cruel, because surely she knows how you feel about her. Surely she's not so naive that she doesn't understand the implications of inviting an ex over after the both of you are very much not sober. Does she expect you to behave when she's offering herself on a silver platter?

"Iris?"

You blink, as if broken from a spell.

… No, that isn't fair. That line of thinking is dangerous. She's inviting you inside because she trusts you and cares about you. Nothing more. You can't betray her trust. Not after you've worked so hard just to be her friend again.

How ironic. How little she knows that it's actually much safer if you don't go inside.

You muster up a smile. "That's sweet of you, but I should make my way back."

Selene frowns. "Are you sure? I mean—"

"I'm sure," you insist firmly, before you can change your mind. Your fingers start pulling tight onto threads lining the fabric inside your pockets.

"Oh, okay. Um, be safe then." She steps backward, her lips twisting and pursing before they finally settle on a smile. "Text me when you get back?"

You're not so dense that you can't tell she's disappointed by your answer. But again, she's not sober. Not being cautious. Not thinking about how, if given the opportunity, you'll ruin whatever precarious friendship you've built together. Not realizing that in the aftermath of that, she'll be upset with you. Any distance you create is for the best.

"I will," you promise.

She nods, then rummages through her bag to find her keys, and you take that as your cue to leave.

As you make your way down the walkway leading to the apartment, you can hear the telltale sound of a lock being opened. In just a moment, Selene will be inside the lobby, and you won't be able to see her again for the rest of the weekend.

Because you can't help yourself, you spin around and call out to her again:

"And Selene?"

She perks up, turning toward you, her body still only halfway through the door. There's a glimmer of something that looks like hope in her eyes.

"Yeah?"

You smile at her. "Thank you for holding onto my things. I promise I'll pick it up eventually."