21 | Closer
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The morning light hits me like a wave, fluttering through the half-pulled curtains. When I prise open my eyes and have a moment of hesitation, trying to work out where I am, it's immediate deja-vu.
I did this a few hours ago. Woke up somewhere that isn't my own bed.
But this room is so remarkably Nolan's that I'm consumed by him the moment I wake up. The smell of him on the sheets, the shirts messily slung over the dresser just in front of me, an array of camera stuff on the bedside table. It's weird, how small details like that can encapsulate a person.
When I push myself up, sitting back against the pillows, I notice something else on the table. I hadn't noticed it before and wonder if it's new. A photo in a white frame. Without thinking I reach out, taking it between my fingertips.
Nolan and Riley's parents stand in the background, smiling but clearly caught off guard. Howard Winters has a pair of tongs in hand, hovering beside a barbecue and Sarah is shielding her eyes from the sun. They look younger, morerelaxed.
At the front, taking up most of the attention are Nolan and Riley. Riley's grinning, hair messier and curlier, arms and legs out in a sort-of starfish position - I'd guess she's around four. I smile at her chubby cheeks and wide smile, the girl I watched grow up.
Nolan, only two years older, stands next to her, arm slung over her shoulder as he leans in for the photo.
He's smirking, not smiling, but does actually look like he wants to be there.
There's a childhood shine in his eyes, a glimmer of innocence.
I almost laugh when I notice the dinosaur on his t-shirt.
For a second I forget what this family looks like now.
"Morning."
The voice makes me turn sharply, head shaken from my thoughts.
Nolan's eyes drop down to the photo, then flick back up to me. His arms are crossed as he leans against the doorframe.
"I thought you were done snooping in my room?"
It's a playful comment, one that intentionally reminds me of his stupid condoms. But that's as far as my brain gets before stalling, because he's shirtless again.
His stomach stands tall, glistening with those sculpted ridges and few rouge beauty spots.
My eyes linger, gracing over the pecs, the faint lines leading down to the waist of his sweatpants.
He's had a shower. If it wasn't already obvious hishair gives it away, somewhere between wet and damp, clouding his forehead.
My stomach clenches at the sight, swirls with heat.
"This is cute," I fumble out, gesturing to the photo
He shrugs, brushing over it completely, "I made breakfast."
I don't understand him, how his brain works. How can he have a photo of his family in his room, move home to work on their relationship, but completely avoid it in every conversation? It's like his life is a fragmented puzzle, one he's never fully willing to put back together.
I nod, thinking I'm answering the question do you want breakfast but realising, of course, it's not a question. It never is with him.
He disappears from view and I follow him, slipping out the bedsheets and trailing towards the kitchen.
I'd forgotten I was wearing this t-shirt, this wave of him washing over me.
My heart pulses with something close to feeling cared for, protected.
It doesn't help with the faint line of blush across my cheeks.
It's hard enough to watch him serve me food, shirtless, hair still damp. I watch the way his arm flexes as he grips the plate, the few rouge water droplets still stuck to his skin. I can oogle his tattoos for longer too, try and make out details in the ink.
Pulling my eyes away feels like an actual chore.
"You sleep well?" He asks, shovelling eggs onto a plate.
I nod. It's not a lie, either, I can't remember the last time I had such a restless sleep.
"Good," He hums, "I would've regretted giving you my bed otherwise."
It's a silly joke that makes me smile, cheeks blooming as he serves the plate of eggs, bacon and toast on the table. I use his words as a distraction, starting conversation instead of just staring at his chest like an idiot.
"What? The couch not comfortable?"
He pauses with fork in hand as we sit opposite each other, "It's not my bed."
I don't know what to say to that, a silence passing over us momentarily. As I shovel food into my mouth, Nolan starts to speak again, very matter-of-factly.
"Roads are still not clear enough to drive. I've got to do some work, feel free to watch TV or do whatever. I don't mind."
It's funny how that shouldn't be normal, how I should find it weird or awkward. This gentle domestication has fallen over us, made this all seem like an average day. Like he always cooks me breakfast in his apartment, always lets me sleep in his bed.
It's less heavy than last night, when his gaze burned into my skin and left me aching with a desire I can't comprehend. But now he's doing that caring thing, subtly sweeping his gaze over me and checking I'm okay. It makes me crumble.
"What work?" I ask, quietly.
He looks up, eyebrows a little raised. His pupils hover on mine for a moment. He seems surprised that I care, that I thought to ask. I am too, but this curiosity is somehow real. I want to know things about him, fill in the gaps.
"Emails mostly," He sighs, "I have some potential clients for the new year, and a wedding soon. We're finalising some details."
I nod slowly. Weddings. That's his thing, I'd forgotten.
"I have a client coming round here in a few days too," He adds, leaning back in his chair a little, "She'll be the first one to try out the studio properly."
That makes me pause. The studio, the room he took those first photos in. It's not just some strange experience for him, it's his whole career, his livelihood. Aside from the intensity of that I also feel jealousy climbing its way up my throat.
I hate the way I stiffen at hearing she. A woman, here, in the space I'm currently occupying. She's a fucking client, nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with us. But I can't rid my brain of the factI was the first one in his studio, not her.
I bite into my toast too hard.
"It's boring, I know," He says, cautiously studying my expression, "We can talk about something else..."
He's really looking at me. I wonder if he can tell I'm annoyed about something so stupid. I try and chew away the jealousy.
"How about that show you were talking about?" He suggests.
I frown at him, happy for the subject change but not expecting that of all things. I didn't think he was even listening before.
"There's no point, you don't understand the romance genre," I mumble, "You don't even get the basic tropes."
"I liked the movie last night."
I shake my head, "Doesn't matter. You won't want to hear it."
I think that's true, that he doesn't want to hear my rambling. I need that to be the case because he's already worked himself too far into my brain, my thoughts.
"Come on, Ava, I do. I promise it'll be better than my work stuff," He insists, sitting up straighter at the table, "How does it end for Kate and... A...? Albert?"
"Anthony," I correct, "It's Kate and Anthony."
"Right, then," He hums, "Does he still marry the sister?"
I shake my head. Nolan's smiling now, a soft one that's giving me space to talk. My eyes grace his still-naked skin, the ridges staring back at me from across the table. I clear my throat. I need to talk.
"They admit they love each other and end up getting married," I explain, "Her sister, Edwina, forgives her, understands that her happiness is the most important thing."
He frowns, biting into his toast, "Even though he pretended to like her, strung her along and stranded her at the altar?"
I roll my eyes. When he puts it like that it sounds bad. He likes to do this, being intentionally naive just to annoy me. His handsome smirk and messy, boyish hair is making it endearing. It's the easiest form of rage-bait and I fall for it every time.
"Yes. It wasn't really anyone's fault, love just happens. She couldn't blame her sister."
"I wish my sister was that forgiving," He mutters back, glancing away.
To him it's a throwaway comment, but it makes my head spin almost immediately. It feels silly, to compare us to a romance plot, but faint parallels become clear. I can't get him out of my head, can't stop this strange, encompassing rush of feelings, even though I know how wrong it is.
I don't know if he likes me, whether his glances and caring efforts mean anything at all.
I have to hope they don't, for Riley's sake.
Light floods through the window behind us suddenly, the sun cracking through the grey clouds and contrasting the sheets of white across rooftops.
It streaks across the floor, running towards our table and splintering through Nolan's chocolate hair.
When he looks at me it hits one of his eyes too, green flecks gleaming back at me.
In that quiet, undisturbed moment, I relax. It feels like there's nothing wrong at all. Nothing simmering under the surface, no unexplainable tension.
It feels like the calm before a storm.
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I don't really notice the morning bleed into the late afternoon. We eat and change. I'm busy on my laptop, focused with work. Ava's presence is here - I couldn't ever ignore it - but she does keep her distance. She finds things to do, keeps herself occupied.
At one point she reads a book, something of her own she had stashed away in her bag.
It looks like a romance, something fantastical.
I've noticed she has a habit of liking things that whisk her away from the real world.
I watch her push a strand of hair out her face, engrossed in the words on the page. Pretty girl.
Later, when I'm busy adding some things to my portfolio, she watches TV.
It's a sitcom, low and repetitive with that laugh track fading into the background.
I watch her again, from the table. She's curled up, arms around her legs as her hair falls down too.
I'm engrossed in her gentle innocence for the millionth time.
When I spend a bit of time in my studio, organising some equipment, she brushes past the doorway, stopping to smile before slinking away again. It makes me pause completely, take a mental freeze-frame of her smile.
It feels like she's torturing me, here, beside me, tempting as ever, but so off limits it hurts. She hasn't done anything but be herself, act like a friend, and yet I'm here thinking about her like she's more. I'm not even trying to kill this attraction anymore. It's probably unhealthy.
Now, I sit on the couch, back on my laptop. My eyes strain, unhappy to see yet another email. I have something else with me too, something to show Ava. Just as I think of her, a voice slices through the room.
"What's this?"
I glance up, immediately recognising the dark-green box resting in her hands. It's usually tucked in a corner, old ideas I don't have time for. It catches me off guard and my words falter for a second. I blink.
"You were snooping again."
She smiles innocently, "Not in your room. It was on the floor in the studio."
"I know," I reply. I scan her face, her shiny pupils and slightly raised brows. I can't figure out her game, what she's trying to decipher. It feels like genuine curiosity fuelled by the boredom of being stuck here all day.
"So?" She hums, walking over and placing herself on the opposite end of the couch, "What's inside?"
I can feel my face scrunch up, bloom with something close to embarrassment. It's not that bad, nothing anyone will care about, but I still cringe thinking about it. I don't really want Ava to see it, either.
"Old photo stuff," I murmur, "It's stupid."
Ava just keeps staring at me, "That's it? Photo stuff?"
The second I nod her fingers find the lid and prise it off, not giving me a chance to tell her not to.
My eyes glance at the pile of photos, so shiny and reflected with light from here that I can't tell what any of them are.
I haven't seen them for a while actually.
It's a mix of random bits, some stuff from high school, mainly photos from college.
I went through an experimental phase but quickly realised that doesn't pay the bills.
Ava's silent for a moment and I wonder what she's thinking, what thoughts are running through her head. I watch her fingers pick between the photos, careful, so she doesn't dent them or cover them in fingerprints. It feels like a long time before she looks back up at me.
"You took these?" She asks, voice quieter.
"A long time ago."
"They're... really good," Her voice fills with a level of sincerity I hadn't expected.
I huff a laugh before I can stop it, much to her dismay.
"Really good is not what I would say," I mutter, wincing, "More like annoying, artsy trash."
Her eyes narrow, judging me softly, "I'm serious. They're cool."
She lifts one up, showing it to me. It's a still from a train station, back in the city I used to live in. A train is caught in the shutter, a drawn-out blur. Everything else has a green, murky undertone, colour-graded to look like something out of an indie film.
"It's a train, Ava," I mutter, dismissing her words.
"You should take photos like this again," She continues, albeit like it's physically hurting her to compliment me, but her words seem truthful, "You're good at it."
I don't know what to say to that so just shrug, not letting it sink in. Even if I did like that sort of stuff I don't have the time, it's not practical. The fact I'm able to live off my camera is a privilege in itself, I don't need to push my luck anymore. What I enjoy isn't important.
"Was this one at college?" Ava asks, pulling out another photo.
A spiral staircase in black and white. The few blurred people moving down it look like ghosts.
I nod eventually, "Yeah, I took it in an old building on campus."
Her eyes flick back to the box, still digging into my past, things I don't think about. It's hitting me harder than expected, brain flicking through the fragmented parts of my life. I'm not the person I was when I was a teenager. I'm not the same person who took those photos.
When my fist scrunches a little against the laptop I'm reminded of what's in my hand, the thing I hope Ava will let me show her. It's risky, I know. She still has that weakness, but I want her to know how beautiful she is, see that glow that follows her.
"You wanna see more of my old photos?" I ask into the quiet, watching her head flick up back to me with quiet amusement.
She seems confused, knowing I'm the last person to offer that up. It makes more sense when I hold up the SD card. The one with the bird drawn on it.
Her eyes widen, fingers stilling on the box.
I smile, her little streak of control is gone, returned to me.
"You know I don't want to see those."
I wait a beat before speaking, admiring the faint pink drifting across her cheeks. Her lips are parted in frustration.
"They're just photos, ones I haven't seen for a long time." That's not a lie, either, I've been actively avoiding them. I can't have her living in my head anymore than she already is.
Her eyes flash down to where I'm close to plugging it into my laptop, loading the photos onto my screen, "I'm serious, don't."
I freeze, but don't stop. She chews the inside of her lip, eyes scanning me harder than they have done in a while. I can't tell if this is something I should push, I don't want to actually upset her. Her face mellows, swirls with agitation.
And then, she moves. Slow, but calculated, she shuffles down the couch, abandoning the box of photos and reaching me beside my laptop. The air tightens for a moment, her eyes completely locked on mine. I blink, frozen. My skin fizzes with the tension burning in the space between us.
Her hand swipes for the SD card so suddenly my reflexes almost miss it. I manage to pull my hand away, leaving her with narrowed eyes and a determined expression. She kisses her teeth before pouting at me.
"Oh, so this is what we're doing?" I taunt, voice quiet.
She speaks back in a hushed tone, "Are you going to terrorise me with those photos?"
I think for a second, "I haven't decided."
She huffs, breaking our gaze for a second. Her knee is pressed into the couch, so close to mine I can feel the fabric gently brushing against my thigh. It shoots adrenaline under my skin, fuelled by the faint brush of her breath on my nose.
"I swear I'll kill you, Winters," Her voice is thick with challenge, like she wants me to say something just as teasing back.
I let my brain run wild with a comeback before thinking.
"Beg, then maybe I'll change my mind."
Shit. That was too much.
I can see it physically process in Ava's facial expression too, her eyebrows tightening. Her lips part, eyes softening. Her face is blank but running with something deeper. She doesn't look annoyed. She's looking at me like she wants me to say it again.
Not even a few seconds later she lunges for the card, failing to swipe it from my grip yet again.
I grin, evading her hand as some determined part of her keeps fuelling her attempts.
I shuffle, twisting away from my sitting position, letting her keep trying.
I can't help that I find it cute, amusing.
When I lean over her more, actively encouraging her to go for it just so I can take it away again, she brings her knee up and hits me in the crotch.
Not hard, not enough to hurt, but so much that it makes my cock stir.
I don't know if it was on purpose but either way my concentration completely dissipates.
All I can think about is her touch, her skin on mine. My body's reaction.
She takes that moment of weakness as an opportunity to snatch the card, peeling it from my fingertips. A victorious smile stretches over her cheeks, soft as she pushes herself up on her arms. She goes to speak but it's too late.
I wrap my hands around each of her wrists, pinning her body down, back to the couch. As she falls I take the card, leaving her empty-handed by the time she realises what's happening. It all occurs in a split second, a lapse in her judgement.
It's only when the air stills, clears, that I realise what I've done.
We're so close.
My face hovers over hers, her lips closer to mine than they've ever been. Her eyes are still, searching my pupils. I can see every part of her perfect skin, feel her silky hair touching some of my forearm. I'm drowning in her rose-scent, completely and utterly locked on her.
But it's not just that. It's the touch.
My fingers around her wrists, pinning her down, gentle force keeping her in place.
My legs tangled in hers, brushing against each other.
My skin burns, on fire. It's addicting, quenching my insatiable need to be near her. I can barely think, only feel.
She looks so perfect beneath me, vulnerable, quiet, mine. I've suddenly forgotten the entire world around me. This is what I want forever, the girl I need looking back up at me with stars in her eyes. My chest tightens, churns with unrestrained need.
I need to kiss her. I need to feel her lips against mine.
I need her.
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Nolan doesn't move. I can tell he wants to.
He wants to kiss me.
His eyes are darting between my lips and eyes, face racing with unbridled desire. It's like every sign I was overthinking, every time I questioned his feelings have accumulated right now to slap me in the face. I'm an idiot.
Of course Honey was right. The man on top of me is pinning me down like he'll never let go, like he's savouring the touch for all of eternity. His shiny eyes are hungry, searching mine with a possessive prowl. It's a darker, more intense version of his usual care.
My stomach is in my throat, heart hammering against my chest so hard I feel like I might explode. A fiery mix of lust and attraction is pumping through my veins, taking over my whole body. I can feel Nolan's eyes eating me alive, feel his touch against my wrists, my legs.
I want him to kiss me. I've never wanted him more.I like being trapped under his body, suffocated by his presence. He's consumed me whole, forced me to face the feelings I'm too scared to admit.
His hair falls close to mine, pretty and charming and making my breath pump faster. He's even more handsome up close. The way he looks at me like I'm the only thing on earth is practically killing me. Heat begins to pool dangerously between my thighs.
I don't know how long we stay like this, in silence.
"Nolan..." I breathe eventually.
I don't know if I'm asking him something, if it's a plea for him to stop or keep going.
He doesn't say anything, continuing to blink at me as the tension between us burns.
"Move..." I manage to hiss.
It's quiet, holds no weight at all. It's not a command anyone would expect to follow. Nolan finds a voice to speak.
"Why?"
Because if he stays here a second longer I'll break. Because we'll kiss when we can't do that. Because I don't know what this all means. The reasons are endless.
"Please," I whisper softly, "Just move...I can't..."
He licks his lips, painfully slowly. I watch every movement, the faint flash of his tongue. It only makes me want it more, want him more.
"You really want me to let you go?" He murmurs, deep voice reverberating through me.
No.
"Yes," I say with a gentle nod.
He stays put and for a second I think he really will keep me pinned under him forever, our lips so close, skin pressed together with need.
But he does loosen his grip, lightly prising his fingers off my wrists.
I immediately shoot off the couch, ignoring the pang in my heart from the loss of contact.
When I speed walk over to the table to grab my things his voice drones from behind me.
"What are you doing?"
I don't look back, "Going home."
My heart is shaking, trembling inside me. All I can see, feel and smell is Nolan. It doesn't matter that I'm up, moving around, mentally I'm still beneath him. I can't trust myself around him, I can't feel these things bigger than anything else.
He keeps speaking, "You can't, the snow-"
"The snow isn't an issue," I interrupt, shoving the last of my belongings into my bag, "The sun, it melted some of it, the news is saying driving is fine."
"The warning has changed from high to mild, it's not fine."
I finally swivel to face him, emotions bursting out my chest, "I'm not staying here! I can't..."
He scans my face, remarkably calm, "But you-"
"No," I snap, too overwhelmed to change my tone, "This can't happen...it's not right."
Before I can let him reply I slip on my shoes and coat, pulling open the door and leaving. The silence is suffocating, hammering with all the things unsaid. Guilt, need and attraction all swirl in my chest as the realisation sets in.
I almost fucking kissed him.
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