Every moment felt heavier than it should have as the next several days unfolded with a subdued intensity. Adrian was no longer avoiding me, but he was also acting strangely. He spent more time hovering around my desk, giving directions he could have easily emailed and asking questions he didn't actually require answers to. He never softened his voice with anyone else, but he did so every time he spoke to me. People in the office also took notice—whispers that followed our chats, strange looks, and discreet glances. I pretended not to be affected, but on the inside, I was experiencing an odd mix of anxiety and excitement. Everyone could tell that something had changed between us, even though we were acting as though nothing had.
The strain became unavoidable during a review session in the late afternoon. As we compared data sets, we sat next to one another with our shoulders nearly touching. My hand seemed to follow his every time he moved across the table, pulled to his warmth out of reflex. He remarked quietly, "You're unusually quiet today," while continuing to concentrate on the paperwork. His tone was one of inquiry, tinged with something almost tender, rather than accusation. "I'm just thinking," I answered. At last, he turned to face me, looking into my eyes as though attempting to read my thoughts that I hadn't expressed out loud. Neither of us said anything for a moment. The quiet that enveloped us was both cozy and intense, drawing us further into a realm that no set of rules could describe.
The office was empty as night fell, leaving just the glow of overhead lights and the buzz of far-off machines. With the city lights shining on his face, Adrian stood next to the window and went over the last figures. With a lowered voice than normal, he remarked, "You've been doing exceptional work." His compliments were seldom enough to cause my chest to constrict. I moved closer and said, "Thank you." He cautiously turned to face me, and I could see that he was hesitant. He said, "It's getting harder to stay objective around you." I was astounded by the honesty. Adrian showed no signs of weakening. He made no disclosures. And yet here he was, gradually letting go of his guard.
He didn't move when I carefully walked up to him, giving him room to move away if necessary. "You don't have to pretend with me," I said softly. His jaw tightened, a physical reaction to emotions he didn't know how to manage. "Pretending is what keeps everything in order," he replied. But even as he said it, his eyes told a different story. They held warmth, longing, and something dangerously close to surrender. I shook my head gently. "Order isn't the same as truth." He inhaled sharply, as if the words hit deeper than I intended. He looked at me like I'd just exposed something he'd spent years burying. "You make this too easy," he whispered. "Too tempting.
He moved in close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. It was an instinctive action rather than a planned one. His gaze strayed to my lips, but he instantly stopped himself and turned away, causing the air between us to change. He pinched the bridge of his nose and murmured, "This is a mistake." I discreetly observed him, taking note of the struggle in every aspect of his stance. "So why are you unable to leave?" I asked softly. He gave me another glance, this time with an unvarnished honesty that made my heart race. "Because I'd rather not." Fragile and potent, the confession hung in the air, transforming everything we believed we could conceal.
The floor was suddenly darkened by a power flicker before any of us could say anything further. Only the emergency glow strips running along the hallway remained after the lights dimmed and eventually vanished. Adrian let out a breath, partly relieved, half angered by the disruption. He looked at the window where rain was streaking the glass and muttered, "Storm's causing issues with the grid." However, the space seemed much smaller as he turned around, and the tension between us was heightened by the darkness. He stepped toward the door and said, "I'll check with security," before freezing. Outside, there was thunder that reverberated throughout the structure. He glanced back at me without thinking, concern briefly appearing on his face. "Remain near," he said. An instinct, not a command.
Together, we strolled down the dimly lit hallway, our footfall gentle on the carpet. The only sound in the building was the mild hum of the generators, and it felt unsettling without its regular bustle. Every few steps, Adrian's arm touched mine as he remained close to me. Even though he wasn't talking, his presence was anchoring, stable, and protecting. We were informed at the security desk that full power would not restore for some time. The darkness engulfed us once more as we made our way back, intensifying every little sound and breath we shared. He said, "Are you okay?" I was taken aback by the worry in his voice. "Yes," I answered. "Are you?" "Not when it comes to you," he muttered after pausing.
As we arrived at his workplace, the emergency lights created long shadows on the walls and a gentle warmth across the space. Adrian shut the door after us and leaned against it for a while, perhaps gathering his thoughts. He remarked, "This is getting out of hand," but there was no conviction in his voice. Attracted by the candor he could no longer conceal, I moved in closer. I said, "Maybe it's finally getting real." At that moment, he gave me a serious gaze, and at last something inside of him opened up. The quiet between us in the room was louder than thunder, even while the storm raged outside. He didn't move, touch me, or say anything. However, it was clear from the way he looked at me that he was done acting.