The room was dim, the kind of dim where shadows seemed to stretch out, clinging to the walls like they belonged there. Outside, the city hummed faintly, the occasional horn or distant siren fading into the rhythm of the rain that streaked the window. You sat in your apartment’s living room, one small lamp glowing golden in the corner, the rest swallowed by the soft darkness. The record player was spinning slow — something rich, something with a heartbeat that crawled under your skin. It wasn’t loud, but it filled every inch of the space.

Jenna was here, sitting cross-legged on the edge of your couch, facing you. Not leaning back, not relaxing — watching. There was something about the way her gaze rested on you, steady and unblinking, like she was trying to memorize the way you existed right now. The low light caught the lines of her face, the delicate curve of her mouth, the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her bun. You could smell her perfume — faintly sweet, faintly warm, something that lingered like smoke.

She hadn’t said much tonight. It wasn’t a night for chatter. It was the kind of night where words felt too clumsy for the air between you, too sharp for how soft everything felt. Every movement was slower — her reaching for her glass of wine, her fingers tracing the rim absentmindedly; you leaning back, letting your arm drape along the back of the couch just close enough that if she shifted, your fingertips might graze her shoulder.

There was tension, but not the kind that made you want to move away. It was the kind that made your chest feel tight, the kind that demanded patience — the unspoken knowing that both of you were sitting here on the edge of something, waiting for one of you to tip it over. You caught her glance down at your hands once, her eyes flicking back up to meet yours. She didn’t look away this time.

"You’re quiet tonight."

She murmured, her voice low enough that you almost had to lean forward to catch it. She wasn’t teasing. She was… curious. Studying you like she did in the beginning, but now with something heavier behind it.

Your eyes held hers, and the world outside the walls could have ended and you wouldn’t have noticed. She tilted her head slightly, the faintest smile — not playful, not for show, just for you. She leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee, chin in her palm. You could feel her gaze travel over you like a slow song — not in a rush to reach the end.

"Do you know..."

She said after a beat.

"...that you make it very hard to keep my distance?"

It wasn’t the kind of line meant to be answered. It was a confession — quiet, unpolished, heavy with all the nights that led up to this one. And as the rain kept falling, and the music kept weaving through the silence, you knew you weren’t imagining it — that shift in the air, that pull that felt like gravity had just found a new center.