Under Control.

chapter eight.

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At some point, somehow, Nora and Julian had ended up alone together in her bedroom.

Albert had been snoring, and Nora was reeling, and Julian — well, Julian had ideas. And so without thinking, it had kind of just happened.

Before, back out in the relative safety of the other room, Julian had kept almost-touching Nora and making her heart jump. They'd chatted about the session, about how it sounded and what it felt like, and about Albert, too. Anything that felt like a safe distraction. And all the while, Nora had let Julian's hungry eyes roam.

Julian, even despite the boozy haze clouding his head, could feel the push and pull that was solidifying between the two of them. It felt like sparks — a kind of spreading warmth that was as comfortable as it was terrifying — and through it all, he could tell that Nora remained unsure, but curious. He could tell that she knew — that she saw him, and knew he saw her right back — and that in the end she'd decided, maybe against her better judgment, to let him in.

So, in the moments between when Julian wasn't looking at Nora — watching, and seeing — he'd begun taking in her apartment and all the little pieces of her that were scattered around the place. It was filled with art and odds and ends, and they were all beautiful and thoughtful and intriguing, just like she was. And while he made nice and pretended to behave, Nora watched him watching her — all the pieces of her external self that made up the rest — and then, before Julian knew what was happening or how, they'd ended up in her bedroom.

Julian didn't know if Nora was ever going to let him see more of her — or, even, if he was brave enough to really try. But in any case, he'd decided as he watched her drift through the shadows and into the soft, faraway light of her bedroom, that at the very least by following her lead, he'd might still get to see a little more of what made up who she was.

And so, that was the how and the why. And all that was left, was the what-ifs.

Here and now, Nora was settled into the pillows at the head of her bed, while Julian was sat on the edge at the end of it. She had her legs crossed over her mussed sheets and her robe was slipping off one shoulder, piled askew and rumpled in her lap, and Julian could see more of her than he ever had done before — more than in the car yesterday afternoon, and more than in any other moment they'd shared. And the simpleness of just that and all of this together, left him daring to want more.

In here, Nora was surrounded by pieces of herself — a bookshelf stuffed with novels and research papers and catalogues; walls decorated with framed prints he mostly didn't recognise, and with scribbles and doodles it seemed to him she treated with as much consideration as she did the Art it was her job to care about. The room was tiny, and peaceful, and everything in it smelled like her. It was intoxicating, and combined with the way she was just sitting there, all shadows and bed head, soft skin and green silk, Julian knew beyond any doubt now that he was in over his head.

'Is it alright if I leave Al where he is?'

Julian shattered the comfortable silence that had settled between them and then wilted onto Nora's unmade bed, wanting to escape himself almost as much as he wanted to melt into her, and this, and the idea of them. He couldn't let his gaze rest on her for too long, anymore — he couldn't dare to think too much more about any of this. So instead he flit his eyes between her and the ceiling, and then he went on.

'He's not gonna — I mean, I can try. But he's probably not gonna wake up. He sleeps like the dead.'

Nora laughed at that, and then she settled back into the pillows behind her. 'Yeah, I know. This isn't the first time he's crashed, here.'