You leaned back in your chair as Aleksander knelt before you, a cigarette resting between his lips while his hands carefully fastened the straps of your heels.

You never grew tired of this.

The quiet attentiveness. The ease between you.

He wasn't your boyfriend.

If anything, that only made it worse.

You were just friends.

Friends who had somehow blurred every line without ever crossing it. The touches, the lingering glances, the casual intimacy—it had become second nature, as though neither of you thought twice about it anymore.

And maybe that was the dangerous part.

Still, you couldn't deny how comforting it was.

Having Aleksander by your side made the world seem quieter. Safer. There was something about him—steady, composed, dependable—that settled every restless thought before it had the chance to grow.

His eyes lifted to meet yours.

Without thinking, his hand lingered against your calf, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin before coming to rest.

Your own hands reached for his tie.

You always fixed it for him.

And he always let you.

You leaned in a little closer, your knee brushing against his as you straightened the knot. Neither of you moved away.

You wondered, not for the first time, whether anything would ever come of this.

Or if this was all the two of you would ever be.

—

His heartbeat was calm.

Or at least, he convinced himself it was.

From where he knelt, he looked up at you, and for a moment all he could think was how beautiful you were.

Not in a way that demanded attention.

In a way that quietly stole it.

He had never needed many words with you. They always seemed unnecessary. Most days, he only asked where you wanted to eat, reminded you to take your coat, or told you how lovely you looked before the two of you left the house.

Everything else was understood.

Lately, though, something had changed.

He found himself reaching for your presence without meaning to.

The brush of your shoulder against his.

Your hand absentmindedly fixing his tie.

The sound of your voice filling the silence between conversations.

It wasn't desire.

Not like that.

He simply wanted you close.

Close enough that he could hear your breathing. Close enough that reaching for your hand felt natural.

He lowered his eyes, drawing slowly upon his cigarette.

When had your company ceased to be a comfort...

...and become a necessity?