Chapter 10 — Too Close for Pretending
761 Words
The apartment was still, wrapped in the kind of late-night silence that made every sound louder, every breath more noticeable. The city outside hummed softly, but inside, it felt like the whole world had paused.
Lily sat on the couch, knees tucked under her, a blanket over her legs and a book open in her lap. She tried to read, but her eyes kept drifting to the hallway—waiting for footsteps, for any sign that Arden hadn’t gone to bed angry or distant.
It was almost midnight when she heard him.
A quiet door click.
Soft, slow footsteps.
A calm breath.
She looked up.
Arden appeared from the hallway, wearing a simple gray T-shirt and dark sweatpants, hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it again.
He paused when he saw her awake.
“You’re still reading?” he asked, voice low, rough with the softness of midnight.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.
He nodded as if he expected that.
He hesitated—just for a second—then walked toward her.
Not with the tension he carried earlier.
Not with anger.
Just… something quiet, almost tender.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
She held up the book.
Arden glanced at it, then at the other end of the couch.
“May I?” he asked.
His voice was polite—too polite—but his eyes gave him away.
Something in him wanted closeness he wouldn’t admit out loud.
Lily nodded.
He sat.
Not across from her.
Not in the armchair.
But next to her on the couch.
Close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
Close enough that when he breathed, she could feel the slight rise of his chest.
He picked up the book she’d placed on the coffee table earlier—one of his own academic favorites.
“You’re reading again?” she asked.
He gave a faint, almost self-conscious half-smile.
“I couldn’t sleep either.”
She nodded, pretending to focus on her own page, but his presence was impossible to ignore. His voice, even in silence. His warmth. The soft rustle of his pages.
Then it happened—
He shifted closer.
Just an inch.
Just enough.
Lily froze. Her heart kicked hard in her chest.
Arden kept reading, pretending not to notice that they were now close enough that their knees brushed under the blanket.
“What page are you on?” he asked softly.
She told him.
He leaned over to look.
Really leaned.
His shoulder grazed hers, warm and solid.
His breath was close to her cheek, slow and steady, but she felt the moment he realized how close they were—because his breathing changed. Just a little. Just enough.
He didn’t pull away.
He should have.
He didn’t.
Instead, he let himself stay there, eyes scanning the lines of her book far slower than necessary.
“You’re ahead of me,” he murmured.
“I can wait for you,” she whispered.
“Oh?” His voice softened. “You’d wait for me?”
She knew he didn’t mean the book anymore.
“Yes,” she said without thinking. “I would.”
Silence stretched between them, warm and electric.
Arden slowly lifted his head. Their faces were close—too close, dangerously close—and he held still, like moving even a fraction would break something fragile.
“Lily…” he breathed.
Her heart fluttered.
“Yes?”
He swallowed, eyes dropping to her lips before he forced them back up.
“We shouldn’t sit this close.”
“Then move,” she whispered.
He didn’t.
He stayed exactly where he was—too close, too warm, too conflicted.
“I should,” he murmured, voice barely a breath. “But I… don’t want to.”
The confession was quiet, but it hit her like a spark.
She didn’t move either.
So they sat there in the midnight quiet, sharing the same blanket, inches apart, pretending to read while neither could focus on a single word.
Arden exhaled, long and unsteady, the softest crack slipping through his composure.
“This is dangerous,” he whispered.
“Do you want me to go to my room?” she asked.
His eyes searched hers—slow, intense, vulnerable.
“No,” he said honestly. “Stay.”
And so she did.
Too close.
Too warm.
Too aware.
Until the line between professor and flatmate wasn’t the one she felt.
The one she felt was the one she kept crossing…
and the one he let her.
- Writer
