#*editing

You noticed that they ordered spiced tea the few times you’ve been allowed to stop somewhere, and you noticed how they eat their chocolate by the squares right off the bar. These things were just odd enough for you to notice, you think. Just peculiar enough that you had no other choice but to take note.

And then you were noticing other things...things that you maybe shouldn’t be noticing. Things you only notice not because you were paying attention, but because you were actively seeking them out. Things like the way their nose scrunches when they smile. Things like how you know you told a good joke when they have to bring a hand up to their mouth to hide their laughter. Things like the way their skin smells like cinnamon beneath their jasmine perfume when they draw too near, and the way the dim light of lanterns cast shadows on the slopes of their shoulders when they brush their hair every night.

Their eyes will meet yours in the mirror every time you watch, and before, both of you would vaguely acknowledge one another before turning back to your duties. Now, it has you stiffening. Now, it has their hands trembling when they try to pretend they don’t notice the way your gaze lingers despite yourself.

And they had been doing things, asking things, that you’re not quite sure they should be doing or asking. They ask you to help them put on a necklace that they just can’t get, and you struggle as each brushing of your fingers on the back of their neck has your breath hitching and stomach squirming. They ask you to undo the ties on the back of their dress that they just can’t reach, and you pretend the warmth of their waist doesn’t linger on your hands long after you’ve drawn away.

But you do the same thing, you think. You do it when you ignore how they peek over their shoulder when you’re changing shirts, their eyes tracing over your scars and skin in a way that’s just a bit too delicate to be entirely platonic. You ignore the way their eyes flicker to your lips when they glance at you and you think you might both ignore how when you’re speaking you’ll both lean in closer and closer until you can count each individual freckle on their nose.

It’s almost funny that, for all these new things you’ve noticed, you still feel more alone laying beside them than when you had first met. It is the desire to wrap your arms around them and pull them close (as if it’s something you’ve done a thousand times but in reality have never done once) that emphasizes your solitude despite your shared space.

Sometimes it is a very sad thing to be human and longing. Before you had simply never noticed. Now you force yourself to ignore, force yourself to forget, these things that were once hidden but now taunt you in their obviousness. Look at how they hold their books too close to their face, they say. Look at how softly they hum when they forget themselves. Look at how fondly they stare at ivy and lilies.