simulated intimacy
717 Words
The lights were dim. The room was staged like a private restaurant — candlelit tables, quiet classical music, a monitor overhead tracking behavioral markers for our project. All the top student pairs were seated. But all I saw was her.
Wednesday sat across from me, still in that black dress that should’ve been illegal. Her arms were bare, collarbone delicate, face carved from marble. Her eyes flicked over the menu once, then lowered again. Silent. Still.
She hadn’t said a word to me since the baby presentation.
But I’d been watching her every second.
The simulation required us to act like a real couple — interactions, choices, even the way we spoke to each other.
I leaned forward.
“You gonna feed me, or am I feeding you?”
No answer. Her lips twitched — barely. I could tell she was holding something back.
“I read somewhere,” I said, watching her hands, “that in chemistry, unspoken tension is more dangerous than visible reactions.”
Still nothing.
“You’re dangerous, Wednesday.”
She finally met my eyes — cold, slow, dark like ink. “And yet you still sit across from me.”
I smirked. “Maybe I like pain.”
The food came — some gourmet nonsense. She started slicing quietly. Efficient. Sharp movements. Controlled.
Then she dropped her fork.
It clattered.
She moved to pick it up — and her chair slipped back.
I was up in a second. My hand caught her waist as she tilted. My other grabbed the edge of the table.
For a second — just a second — she was in my arms.
Her eyes widened. Her hand landed on my chest.
And I swear to God — she looked scared. Not of me. Of what it meant to need me.
Then she blinked — and it was gone.
She straightened fast, tore her hand back, snatched the fork and sat like nothing happened.
I stayed standing.
“You okay?” I asked, quiet.
“Don’t touch me again,” she whispered, but her voice wasn’t as sharp this time. It was low. Breathless.
Wednesday
He was too close.
Too warm. Too steady. Like something reliable. Like something I didn’t want to want.
When he caught me, my mind didn’t go blank — it screamed. My skin felt everything. His palm on my waist. The ridges of muscle through his shirt. The fact that he held me like I mattered.
I hated that.
I hated how much I almost leaned in.
He sat down again. This time quieter. But his knee brushed mine under the table — and didn’t move.
Cassian
Halfway through the meal, the simulation asked for a couple challenge: "List five things you love about your partner. Say it to them directly."
She rolled her eyes.
I leaned forward, chin in hand.
“Easy,” I said. “One… You’re smarter than anyone in this room. Two… you’re fearless. You don’t flinch — not even when the world claws at you.”
Her hand froze on her glass.
“Three… you walk like you don’t owe anyone anything. I respect that. Four… your silence? It’s louder than everyone else’s shouting.”
I paused. My voice softened.
“And five… even when you try not to show it… I can see the fire in your eyes. That’s my favorite part.”
She looked at me.
And I swear — for half a second — her entire face softened. Not fully. Not broken. Just a single crack in the ice.
Her lips parted. Like maybe she was about to say something.
But then she looked away.
“Are you done?”
I smiled slowly.
“Never. Not with you.”
Wednesday
He was getting under my skin. Not with charm. Not with words.
With care.
Real, patient, infuriating care.
And that scared me more than anything.
Cassian
When we got up to leave, I let her walk ahead. But I called out loud — loud enough for everyone to hear:
“There goes my bestie — brains, beauty, and a black heart.”
She didn’t turn. But I caught it — the ghost of a smirk at the edge of her mouth before she disappeared through the door.
Yeah.
She was cracking.
And I was falling.
Hard.
- Writer
