“You’re staring,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

You tried to focus on the mug in your hands, but the warmth of it did nothing to distract from the way his eyes stayed on you—dark, amused, a little too observant. Gaz pushed off the counter and stepped closer.

“Long day,” he murmured.

“Understatement.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low in his chest. When he stopped in front of you, the air seemed to tighten. Close enough now that you could smell rain on his jacket and something faintly like soap and metal.

“Funny thing,” he said, voice dropping, “after missions like that… people usually relax.”

“And what exactly are you suggesting, Sergeant?”

His grin widened. “Just noticing you’re still wound up.”

Before you could reply, he reached out, fingers brushing yours where they held the mug. The contact was light, but it sent a quiet spark up your arm.

“You always this tense around me,” he asked softly, “or am I getting special treatment?”

You looked up at him then, and whatever sarcastic answer you had planned vanished the moment your eyes met.

For a second neither of you moved

.Then he tilted his head slightly, voice barely above a whisper.“Careful,” he said. “You keep looking at me like that…”

His hand slipped around yours, gently taking the mug away and setting it aside on the table.

“…and I might start thinking you want me closer.”

You didn’t step back.

Gaz noticed. Naturally he did.

The teasing in his expression softened into something warmer, more intent, as he leaned in just enough that his forehead almost brushed yours.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Thought so.”

Outside, thunder rolled quietly across the sky.

Just decided to starting writing down things in my mind.  Looking to learn a little more about myself, anything, writing style, personality, moods, alterego, anything.  Maybe this can be a way to get to know me from a third person perspective by reading a post that I don’t remember writing.  I am not bipolar or have crazy mood swings but I feel that I am pretty spontaneous in my decision making and depend heavily on my mood at the time.   

I wonder if I am a bad person sometimes.  I think I have good intentions deep down but difficult to act on it.  

I used to be a such an optimist.  Think life made me into a realist and cynical but I still have positive dreams and such.

I’m actually on a conference call for work in my bed, after a long vacation.

Went to an all-too-hip poetry reading in the mile end a few weeks ago. Can't remember who the poet was, what the context was, or if this is even the exact line. But for some reason it's been bouncing around in my head ever since.