LIVING WITH MR.VALE

CHAPTER 4: TOO CLOSE

I couldn't sleep.

It didn't happen all the time, but often enough that I knew what to do. I'd lie there in the dark, trying to calm my mind, but sometimes it just wouldn't listen. So, after about an hour, I'd get out of bed, get a glass of water, and sit somewhere else, just waiting for the restlessness to go away on its own. It was like my brain was racing and I couldn't slow it down, no matter how hard I tried. I'd learned to be patient, though, and just let it run its course.

I slipped on a cardigan over my sleep shirt and headed downstairs.

The kitchen light was already on.

I paused in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. Damien was sitting at the island, his laptop open in front of him, a half-empty mug of coffee beside it. He was still fully dressed, his tie loose, and his eyes were fixed intently on the screen. It was clear he'd been reading for a while, his focus was so strong. I stood there for a moment, watching him, before I finally made myself move into the room. He still hadn't noticed me, too caught up in what he was doing. I took a deep breath and stepped forward, my eyes never leaving his face, wondering what had him so engrossed.

He looked up.

"I apologized and said, 'Sorry, I didn't think anyone was still awake.'"

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was twenty past midnight. " You couldn't sleep?"

"I'm good," I said, filling my glass with water from the tap. "Just got a bit thirsty." I turned to face them, taking a sip of the cool liquid. "So, what's up?"

"Working."

As I took a closer look at him, I saw things I hadn't noticed earlier. There were faint dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders seemed a bit slumped, like he was struggling to keep everything together. It was as if the usual effort of holding it all in place was just a little bit harder than usual, and it was starting to show.

"Have you eaten since dinner?" I asked.

A pause. " I had something earlier."

I probably knew the answer already, but I didn't say it out loud. Instead, I poured myself a drink and then, almost on a whim, I opened the fridge and started rummaging through it.

"You don't have to do that," he said.

I was making some toast, just a simple thing, not a big deal or anything. I had found the bread and put two slices into the toaster, then I pulled out the butter without even looking up at him. "Hey, do you want some?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Another pause, shorter this time. " Sure."

I cut four slices of toast and placed them on a plate between us, then sat down at the kitchen island. Damien shut his laptop partway and picked up his coffee mug. We just sat there for a bit, munching on toast in the still of the night, the only sound coming from the kitchen. It was really nice, and I felt more at ease with him than I had since getting there. The quiet was kind of comforting, you know? We were just eating and enjoying the peacefulness of the moment, no need to say anything.

"Does this happen often?" I asked. " The not sleeping."

He considered the question. " Often enough."

"What keeps you up?"

He mostly just works. When something's bothering him, he gets stuck in a loop, thinking it over and over. He straightforwardly said this, without seeming embarrassed about it. For him, it's simpler to keep busy than to lie awake at night, his mind racing with the same thoughts.

I was surprised by how much I grasped. "I'm the same way," I said, tearing a piece off my toast. "It's not just work, though - it's everything." I paused, collecting my thoughts. "My mind just doesn't seem to have a pause button, you know? It's always running, always thinking about something."

"What was it tonight?"

I caught his eye, and he was staring at me with this intense gaze, like he was really interested in what I had to say. It was as if my response was something he'd been waiting for, and he was giving it his full attention.

"I didn't hear anything out of the ordinary," I replied, trying to downplay it. "Just a lot of background noise, that's all."

He nodded, and in that moment, something shifted inside me, a tiny weight I hadn't even known I was holding onto was lifted, and it was a relief.

"How long have you been like this?" I asked. " The working constantly thing."

He settled back a bit, reflecting on his past. "I'd say it started when I was around twenty-three," he said. "I had to take the reins of my father's company sooner than expected, and I think I just got stuck in that mindset - I never really shifted out of that gear after that.

Were you thinking of taking it over a bit early, then?

He thought about it. " I wanted the responsibility. I didn't expect how much of yourself it takes." A brief pause. " You get used to it."

"That doesn't sound like something you actually believe."

His mouth twitched, just a little, and for a moment I thought I saw a glimmer of a smile, though it was barely there. "Maybe not entirely," he said, his voice low and smooth. It was the closest thing to a smile I'd seen from him, and it caught my attention, making me wonder what was behind it.

As I gazed at him sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, his tie loosened and dark circles under his eyes, I noticed the way he carried himself with a quiet, private air that always seemed to draw me in. It was as if something inside me stirred, a feeling that was both familiar and unwelcome, like a warmth that spread through my chest and refused to be ignored. There was just something about him that made me feel this way, a sensation that was hard to explain and even harder to shake off.

He asked, "What about you, what are your plans after you finish your degree, what do you want to do?"

I'd been thinking about writing for a while, but it's not something I've really talked about since I got here. It felt kind of vulnerable, like I was sharing too much. But sitting in the kitchen at midnight, with the lights dimmed low, it seemed like a safer space to open up. "I know it's not the most practical thing to do," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Editing was another story altogether - that was something I could wrap my head around, but the writing part... that was still a work in progress. I was still trying to figure it out, one slow step at a time.

"Who told you that?"

It's not about a particular person, but more about the overall vibe that comes with a certain line of work.

"He made a point that being practical and being meaningful are two different things. When people advise you to be practical, it's often because they've given up on their own dreams. They're not necessarily looking out for your best interests, but rather, they're speaking from their own experiences of compromise and settling for less."

I turned to him and said, "That's really kind of you to offer, I have to say."

"Is it?"

"You're usually more cautious with opinions."

He spoke up, "I've got my own thoughts, but I only share them when it really matters."

As our eyes met, I couldn't help but smile, and he caught it, and for a moment, something shifted between us. It was like a wall came down, and we were connecting on a different level, one that was effortless and genuine. He looked at me with a newfound intensity, like he was really seeing me for the first time, and I felt a surge of warmth spread through me, catching me off guard. It was as if he was permitting himself to truly notice me, and I was struck by the simplicity and beauty of that moment.

"Is there someone special in your life?" he inquired, his tone low and cautious. "Maybe someone you met at university, or perhaps before that?"

I shook my head, feeling a bit reflective. "Not right now, I'm good," I said, my eyes drifting away for a moment. There was someone I'd been interested in last year, but it hadn't worked out - it wasn't serious, and I'd realized pretty quickly that I was more caught up in the idea of being with him than actually being with him as a person. I turned my glass around on the counter, my fingers tracing the rim as I thought back on it. It hadn't taken me long to figure out that my feelings weren't really about him, but about the idea of having someone special in my life.

He paused, then said, "That's just the way it is."

"Has it happened to you?"

He gazed down at the mug he was holding, his thoughts drifting to a different perspective, one that saw things "in a different way."

I was wondering what he was getting at with that comment, but I didn't end up asking him to clarify.

As I went to grab the plate, he did the same, and our hands ended up in the same spot at the same time. My hand touched the side of his, finger to finger, and we just froze. For a couple of seconds, nothing else mattered - not the noise around us, not the people talking, nothing. All I could think about was how warm his hand felt, and how he wasn't pulling his hand away. And my heart, well, it was doing its own thing, beating in a way that made no sense at all. It was like time had stopped, and all that existed was his hand, my hand, and the space between us.

As I slowly pulled my hand back, he placed the plate down beside him.

The kitchen was very quiet.

He told me to try and get some rest, but there was something different about his voice now. It was lower, and it had this tone that hadn't been there when we first started talking.

"I didn't move right away. You should stay still too."

"I will."

I glanced at him once more, searching for something, though I'm not quite sure what. Maybe I wanted to confirm this feeling I had, to know I wasn't just imagining it. He was staring back at me with this calm, expressionless face, but beneath that, I sensed something else - a spark, a flicker, a hint of something he was carefully keeping in check. It was as if he was holding his breath, waiting to see what I'd do next, and that uncertainty drew me in, making me feel like I was standing on the edge of something. His eyes seemed to bore into mine, and for a moment, I felt like I was drowning in their depths, unsure of what I'd find if I looked too closely.

As I finished my drink, I bid everyone a good night, slid down from the stool, and reached for my glass to take with me.

I had my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, when suddenly I felt this weird sensation, like a change in the air or something. It wasn't a noise, exactly, but more like a shift in the silence that was behind me.

I turned back.

Damien was still seated at the island, his eyes fixed on me. For a brief, unguarded instant, before his expression changed, his gaze fell to my lips.

It was over in an instant. Then, his eyes dropped to the table, and the calm, guarded expression returned, hiding his true feelings once again, as if the brief moment of vulnerability had never happened.

I turned back around and walked upstairs and stood in the dark of my room for a long time before I remembered to breathe properly.