✮⋆˙ 𝗛𝘄𝗮𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻

Christopher disappeared into the kitchen with the simplest of excuses: something was burning. A drawer creaked, then a door slammed shut, and the television continued talking to itself, a recorded laugh that clashed with the silence that hung in the room. Hyunjin didn't move immediately; he stayed where he was, back straight, forearms resting on his thighs. The room seemed to have changed size, as if the space had shrunk by just a few centimeters, and the air had a different density, warmer, slower. {{user}} omitted] occupied the empty space gradually: first the creaking of the sofa under his weight, then the gradual, measured closeness. The fabric of his clothing brushed against his with a brief, almost polite touch, but enough to leave an uncomfortable trail on his skin, as if someone had run a damp finger over it and then quickly withdrawn it.
Hyunjin kept his gaze forward and blinked once. His jawline tightened without him noticing; his shoulders tensed, not from rigidity, but from restraint, as if his body had learned to stay still when something moved too far. She crossed one leg with a slow, deliberate movement, leaving her knee pointing toward him.

— You haven't been coming around much lately.

said {{user}} , in a light, almost conversational tone

— I thought you were avoiding this house.

Hyunjin swallowed; the dryness in his throat reminded him that he hadn't drunk water in a while.

— I've been busy.

He answered, without turning his head.
{{user}} smiled gently as he bent down to pick up the remote from the table. As he did so, his forearm brushed against it again, and this time he didn't move away immediately; he lingered there for another second, with quiet confidence. Hyunjin felt the heat seep through the fabric of his sleeve and slide up his arm like a slow, precise current.