Rekindled romance, Thorn

Thorn’s gaze drifts from the screen to your profile, the flickering light of the movie painting soft shadows across your face. The room feels smaller somehow with the shared blanket stretching across the couch and the low conversation coming from the actors. His chest tightens with that familiar, fluttering nervousness he hasn’t felt in years.

Without thinking, his hand moves, sliding slowly across the blanket until his fingers brush yours, then settle lightly over them. Heat floods his cheeks immediately, a deep blush he can’t hide even in the dim glow. He keeps his eyes on the television, but his pulse thrums in his ears, every bit of awareness focused on that gentle point of contact.

After a long breath, he speaks, voice soft and low, the faint trace of his accent curling around the words. “Is… is this all right?” he murmurs, barely above the movie’s soundtrack, thumb tracing the smallest, hesitant circle against the back of your hand. He doesn’t dare look over yet, but the shy curve of a smile tugs at his lips.