Impassive

15| Mood

Though the men above might say hello, except no love from the beast below.

MATTEO

I leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, watching her as she took a bite of the cake, sitting on the kitchen counter. The way she held the fork, the way she chewed thoughtfully—it was all so natural, but in that moment, nothing about her felt ordinary. Her presence, even in the simple act of eating cake, pulled at something inside me, something that I'd been trying to ignore.

Her eyes lifted to meet mine, and for a second, time seemed to slow. She froze, fork halfway to her mouth, and I could feel the shift in the air. It wasn't just the space between us closing, it was everything that hung in that quiet moment. The tension. The unspoken words. The pull.

"Careful," she said with a teasing smile, her voice soft but somehow daring. "This cake's too good to share."

Her words, playful as they were, didn't mask the underlying challenge. It was the same challenge that had been there ever since she arrived back home—the kind that made me question why my thoughts kept circling back to her. Why every time she was near, my focus shifted completely, like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

I didn't respond right away. Instead, I took a step closer, letting the space between us shrink, letting the air get heavier with each passing second. Her gaze flickered down to the cake in her hand, but I didn't miss the way her breath caught when I moved closer. She was aware of me—aware of the way I was looking at her.

"I'm sure I can get my own," I said, the words coming out a little smoother than I intended, though the playfulness in my voice still lingered. "But I think I'll watch you enjoy this one first."

She swallowed, eyes locked onto mine, and I saw the flicker of something in her expression—a vulnerability, maybe, or maybe it was just the simple effect of having me this close. I didn't know. I couldn't be sure. But whatever it was, it made me feel good.

"I'm not sure I want to share," she murmured, her voice a little quieter now. The challenge was still there, but there was something else too, something I couldn't quite place.

For a moment, I was lost in the way she was looking at me—soft, yet intense. It was as if she was holding something back, and I was waiting, almost hoping, that she would let it slip. That she would take a step forward, break whatever unspoken barrier we'd both erected. I hadn't expected this, not from her. She wasn't just some girl I was keeping an eye on. There was something more to her—something magnetic that I couldn't ignore.

"May I?" I asked, and as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they'd been the wrong ones. It wasn't a question about cake. It was a question about us.

She blinked, clearly taken off guard. But it was the kind of look that told me she wasn't entirely sure how to respond either. "May I what?" she asked, voice almost too soft, too uncertain.

I moved closer, standing between her legs. I let the silence stretch out between us, my eyes tracing the way her lips parted slightly, the way her chest rose and fell as she took a breath.

"May I have a piece?" I repeated, my voice a little lower now, a little more deliberate.

Her hand shook just slightly as she held out the fork. I didn't take it right away. I let my fingers brush against hers as I accepted it. A brief, electric touch. Barely noticeable to anyone else, but it was enough to send a spark through me. She noticed it, too. I could see it in the way her eyes widened just a fraction, in the way her breath caught.

"Thank you," I said, my voice even softer now. I took a small bite of the cake, never breaking eye contact with her. She was still there, watching me, waiting for something. I couldn't tell what. But I felt it—the shift, the understanding between us. The attraction that was impossible to deny, impossible to ignore.