HANNAH
We stepped into my room, the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the blinds and bathing the space in a warm orange hue. It was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of birds outside and the faint creak of the floor beneath us. I turned to face Jeremy, who stood by the door, his arms crossed as he took in the familiar surroundings. His gaze flicked to me, sharp and assessing, and for a second, I felt like I was under a spotlight.
“Thanks for coming up,” I said, my voice soft but steady.
He raised a brow, his face unreadable. “What do you need?”
I hesitated, feeling my nerves creep in, but then I smiled—warmly, almost involuntarily. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t fake. It was real, and it surprised even me. “I need you to guide me,” I said, meeting his gaze.
His brow furrowed. “Guide you?”
“For my dance,” I explained, stepping toward the center of the room. “I know I shouldn’t, not yet, but I feel like I’ll go crazy if I don’t move, even just a little. I’ll be careful,” I added quickly, seeing the protest already forming on his lips. “I just... I can’t do it alone right now.”
His expression softened, ever so slightly, but the tension remained. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking to the brace on my ankle. “Hannah, I don’t—”
“I trust you,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “Just... guide me.”
The silence stretched between us, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse. But then he sighed and stepped forward, his movements careful and deliberate. “Fine,” he muttered. “But if you fall, it’s on you.”
I smiled again, this time a little wider. “Deal.”
I reached for him first, my fingers brushing against his forearm before sliding up to his shoulder. His muscles were solid beneath my touch, and I felt the slightest shift as he inhaled sharply, though he quickly masked it. His hands came to rest lightly on my waist, and I froze for a moment, the heat of his palms seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice quieter now.
I nodded, letting him guide me as I gently tiptoed, my movements cautious but intentional. I raised one arm, my fingers tracing an invisible line in the air, while the other stayed lightly on his shoulder for balance. Jeremy followed my lead, his grip firm but not forceful, his presence grounding me in a way I hadn’t expected.
His face was close—closer than I realized it would be. His breath was warm against my neck, and I felt a faint shiver run down my spine as he adjusted his hold on my waist, pulling me slightly closer to steady me.
“You’re too tense,” he murmured, his tone low and smooth.
I huffed out a small laugh, trying to ignore the way his voice seemed to settle somewhere deep in my chest. “Hard not to be.”
“Relax,” he said, and I swore there was a hint of amusement in his voice now. “I’m not going to let you fall.”
I tilted my head slightly to glance at him, only to find his blue eyes already locked on me. They were darker in the dim light, filled with something I couldn’t quite name. His gaze felt heavy, like it was pulling me in, and for a moment, I forgot to breathe.
“You’re staring,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
“So are you,” he countered, his lips curving into the faintest of smirks.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as I felt his grip on my waist tighten slightly, his fingers splaying against my back. My pulse quickened, and I wondered if he could feel it, if he could sense the way my body seemed to respond to his every movement.
I raised my other arm, completing the motion of the dance, and as I did, I felt his breath against my skin again, warmer this time, like he was closer—too close.
“Jeremy,” I said softly, trying to break whatever spell seemed to be weaving itself between us.
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested against my waist before slowly trailing back up to meet mine. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost a whisper. “You’re still the same,” he said, his tone unreadable. “And... different.”
I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say, unsure if I even wanted to say anything at all. The moment felt too fragile, too charged, like one wrong move would shatter it completely.
“Alright,” I said finally, lowering my arms and stepping back slightly. His hands fell away from me, leaving a faint, lingering warmth in their wake. “That’s enough for today.”
Jeremy nodded, his expression guarded once again. “You should rest.”
“I will,” I said, offering him a small, almost apologetic smile. “Thanks for helping.”
He didn’t respond right away, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer before he finally turned and walked toward the door. “See you around, Hannah,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost distant.
As the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My heart was still racing, and I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself.
“Get a grip,” I muttered to myself, but the words felt hollow.
****
The living room was bathed in the soft light of late afternoon, the golden rays streaming through the windows and casting long shadows on the floor. I sat on the edge of the couch, adjusting the brace on my ankle as Jeremy worked on fixing a lamp in the corner. He had been at it for nearly an hour, silent and focused, the quiet sound of tools clicking and clinking filling the space.
I shifted, testing the stiffness of my ankle, and decided to break the silence. “Jeremy,” I said, keeping my voice casual.
He didn’t look up, just muttered, “What now, Hannah?”
I rolled my eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Help me practice again.”
That got his attention. He turned, one brow raised, his face a mix of skepticism and annoyance. “In the living room? Really?”
“Yes, really.” I leaned back, crossing my arms. “It’s safe. No stairs to tumble down this time.”
He sighed, setting the screwdriver down with exaggerated slowness, like it pained him to stop what he was doing. “You don’t stop, do you?”
“Not when I know you’re here to keep me upright,” I shot back, flashing him a grin.
Jeremy stood, towering over me, his broad frame shadowing the golden light. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped. “But don’t blame me if you end up back on crutches.”
I extended a hand toward him as he walked over, and he grabbed it, pulling me to my feet. His grip was firm, steady, and warm, but his face remained unreadable.
As he guided me through the motions, his hands lightly resting on my waist, I couldn’t help but notice how stiff he seemed, his jaw tight, his movements a little too careful.
“You’re tense,” I teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in my eye.
His brows knit together. “I’m not tense.”
“You so are,” I said, biting back a laugh. “What’s the matter, Jeremy? Afraid you’ll drop me?”
“Afraid you’ll trip over your own two feet and blame me,” he shot back, his tone sharper than usual.
I tilted my head, giving him a faux-innocent look. “You’re such a liar. You’re all stiff and awkward, like I’m some fragile little doll or something.”
His grip on my waist tightened slightly, and for a moment, I thought I’d pushed too far. But then, before I could react, he scooped me up effortlessly, his arms locking around me as he carried me toward the couch.
“Jeremy!” I yelped, my hands flying up to brace against his chest.
“You want to be fragile?” he said, his tone full of mock exasperation. “Fine. Stay fragile.”
He dropped me—not roughly, but not gently either—onto the couch, and I bounced slightly from the force.
“Hey!” I protested, glaring up at him.
He grabbed a pillow and tossed it at me, the soft thud landing squarely against my stomach. “Stay there,” he ordered, pointing a finger at me like I was some unruly child. “Rest. Or else.”
I sat up, clutching the pillow to my chest, my glare turning into a smirk. “Or else what? You’ll throw me again?”
He didn’t answer, just rolled his eyes and walked back to his tools, muttering something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch.
“You’re such a drama queen,” I called after him, unable to resist one last jab.
Jeremy didn’t look back, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was trying not to smile.
From the doorway, my mom watched the entire exchange, her lips pressed together as if she was holding back laughter. When our eyes met, she gave me a look—one that said I see what’s going on here—before disappearing back upstairs with a laundry basket in hand.
As the room fell quiet again, I leaned back against the couch, clutching the pillow and watching Jeremy work. His back was to me, his broad shoulders and strong hands moving with practiced precision.
“Thanks,” I said softly, almost to myself.
Jeremy paused for a split second, his hand hovering over the lamp, before resuming his tinkering. “Just rest, Hannah,” he muttered, his voice low.
I smiled faintly, letting my eyes drift shut, the tension in my chest easing just a little.
***